


Train Station

by EmbraceSadness



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon), Young Justice (Comics), Young Justice - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Children, Alternate Universe - Homeless, Bluepulse Bash, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-06-06 05:59:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 30,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6741454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmbraceSadness/pseuds/EmbraceSadness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jaime Reyes is a street rat.</p><p> He lives the dark, cold, sleepless nights and long, tiring days of the streets.</p><p> He believes very highly in his own beliefs and follows a strict moral code. Nothing can change the way he thinks.</p><p> At least, that was what he thought.</p><p> All that changed when he met Bart Allen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Varmint](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Varmint/gifts).



> And to all the homeless people out there. You need it.
> 
> Well, this is just a prologue to anybody out there reading it. This is also on Fanfiction.net and Wattpad, logged underthe same usename. Please enjoy, and review!
> 
> And, thank you to my LOVELY muse, Varmint. Go check out her work as well!

 

_A world full of homes, yet so many homeless people_

 

They lived.

 When the hours of the night were in full blossom and there was no one around to see, they were alive. All of them walking; searching endlessly for something they might not even know was there. Something that maybe didn’t even exist. They thrived and they laughed. They continued on, even though there was nothing to continue on for.

 Some nights it rained. Most of them were cold.

 But they had to keep moving, no matter what.

 Jaime had learnt that at a very young age.

* * *

 Usually, they rooted through the garbage. It wasn’t a very efficient way to do things, but Jaime didn't like begging. Not unless it was necessary, anyway. Some of the others sometimes convinced him too. They said that he got more because he was younger and more likely to receive empathy from others. But, Jaime just didn’t like that way. It felt wrong.

 So, rooting through the garbage it was.

 And, it was fine. Usually, he and a couple of others went out to do the search. You found your own stuff, though. Searching a few ways away from some of the other kids was a smart move. Especially away from the bigger kids. People were always trying to steal your stuff. And it _sucked_. Usually, you went to the bigger and more popular places. There were lots of people around, so you could always make an extra dime here and then from those who felt pity for you.

 Jaime was one of the kids who got a lot of pity.

 It was because he was younger. Because he still had a round face with chubby cheeks and child-like features. People had more pity for the younger kids. More pity, more money. Jaime was cool with that. Though, he felt slightly bad for the other kids who had gotten older and couldn’t work that same “charm” anymore. 

He didn’t feel bad for the old bums, though. Most of them were drunkards and druggies. Shame on them for not getting better. They were older. They were wiser. They should  _know_ better.

 Jaime didn’t look for food in the garbage. He looked for useful little trinkets and gadgets that he could sell out on the streets or to some of the other kids. Pens, screws and bolts, tools, anything of the like. Usually, the hard, metal stuff sold the best and for the most. Heaters and radiators went for the most to the people that had found permanent homes under bridges or in ransacked structures for the winter. But, Jaime had not been lucky enough to have stumbled across one as of then.

 Someday, though.

 How long the search took all depended on how much useful stuff could be found. Some days were slower than others. Others, good luck was cast upon you and you could be holding five dollars in only the matter of a couple of hours. Jaime usually was stuck in the middle of “slow” and “good luck”, making way with two-three dollars after a solid five hours of searching were put in.

 He didn’t go to school. He didn’t have time. It was stupid, anyways.

 With the money, he went to buy things. Useful things, like food and water. Clothes and blankets. In the winter, that last stuff was super important. He was good with his money. He distributed it well.

 At least, that was what he told himself.

 In reality, when he went out with the little coins that he had, he went to buy glue. Glue, clay, paint. It had all kinds of names. It was like drugs for kids. Most got high on either glue or paint, but usually glue, because it was cheaper than paint. It was because paint was an actual drug. It had a real name, but everyone who was everyone called it paint. And, like most drugs and cigarettes, you got addicted to it.

  _Jaime_ had gotten addicted to it.

 He didn’t use paint, but he did constantly go to the market to buy glue. Sometimes, it was stolen from him by the bigger kids. Other times, he traded it in for food or clothes and toiletries. But mostly, he sniffed it. You inhaled and exhaled through a bag and “sniffed it” as the others called it. Kind of like cocaine, except not. They weren’t druggies. Not like the bums. They did get high off it, though.

 It took away the hunger pangs. It made everything feel better. Eventually, you came to like it more than food itself. It took over your entire life so that you wasted money on the stupid stuff. Jaime was no stranger to addiction. He was already ten years old and smoking cigarettes and downing vodka in big gulps. Alcohol and butts helped with the hunger as well, but not as much as glue did. Jaime wasn’t stupid. He knew the stuff was killing him, but didn’t know how to stop. And it was for that reason that he continued on.

 And so, Jaime spent his mornings scavenging and searching for things. Sometimes, he’d do odd jobs as well. He worked in the cold wind of the mornings. In the afternoon and evening, he made money. He begged and sold as much as he could. Usually, you begged with an animal, because then people thought that you had to provide for both the animal and yourself. Street dogs and stray cats worked well. If you begged with babies or a young child, you hit the jackpot. Sometimes, Jaime wished he had a younger sibling out there with him. It would be much easier that way.

 But then he realised how selfish that sounded, and had to refrain for kicking himself over it.

 During the late evening and well into the night, they were animals. Wild and reckless, they cared for nothing and nobody. You’d better hope that you didn’t get in their way, because there would be hell to pay if you did. Most of them were high off their minds and would just scream and run and laugh. When you lived like you might die tomorrow, you had no care or thought in the world for anything. Not even yourself. And Jaime, the impressionable child that he was, of course ran along with them. They would beat up and steal from bums, laugh in the faces of the authorities, sing songs and smoke until it felt like there lungs were nothing more than piles of ashes. They laughed until their throats were raw and their laughter turned into raspy coughs that wracked the entirety of their sweaty, skinny little bodies.

 And he loved it that way.

 Loved this life. Loved being on the streets. Loved living in the train station.

 Of course, by the next day, droopy eyelids and red eyes they had get on their feet and keep moving. Crowd onto anyone of the tiny, overcrowded caravans (didn’t matter which one, so long as it went _somewhere_ ) and get a move on. Because, they had to keep moving. It was their way of life. They didn’t stay in the same place, at the same station, for more than a few weeks. Two months at the most. They tended to stick together in the same group, because most kids were on the run and couldn’t go home or were too young to take care of themselves properly. Meaning, most of the older kids stepped up and kind of became the leaders, making them essential but dangerous to all those around them. In hindsight, it made more sense for them to travel together rather than alone. They were more useful to each other dead than alive. The train carts were usually stuffy and filled beyond capacity with stowaways. You could be stuck on a train for days on end with sick children and crying babies. It sucked. It _really_ did.

 But it was better than sticking around for too long. Overstaying your welcome and stuff. And Jaime _knew_ this. It was what he had _grown up_ by. If boys were meant to stay in one place, they would have roots; not legs. Because they could run and shove each other and breathe in the cold, cool air of an uncaring world and be _okay_ with that. Jaime could stick his head out of a train opening and laugh at those who were stuck on standby, waiting for life to come to them instead of going out to try and find it themselves like he was doing.

 Because,  _yes_ life sucked; but it was like that for  _everyone_ . They weren’t poor. Not at all, really. No, they were actually the fortunate ones! Because, no matter what kind of  _crap_ happened to them out there, they looked out for each other. No matter what. And, not a lot of people could say that they had that kind of relationship with someone. They were free to do whatever they pleased, and nobody could stop them. Authorities and passer-by could attempt to beat them and people could spit at them when they begged, but they could do nothing to stop the determination and will the street kids all had to survive. To keep going.

 To most people, the street was just a means of transportation. A way to get from point A to point B very quickly. A simple means of reaching a destination. But to Jaime, it was home. He lived and breathed the cold, hard ground and the rumbling of the railway tracks. The sensation of sniffing glue and the feeling of smoke filling your lungs and liquor burning your throat were just a normal part of life to him, no matter how much it was frowned upon by others.

  And he loved it.

 Jaime had been living this way for years, now. He followed the same basis of a routine every day. And it sometimes got tiring and he sometimes felt like giving up, but it was the path that he had chosen to take, so he would walk it with his head held high and his pride intact. He would move from station to station, place to place, street to street, without bothering to remember the names of people or places he visited or got to know because he knew that he wouldn’t be sticking around for very long. He was a fraud and a sinner and the dirtiest kind of thief there was, but he didn’t really mind. Because, he wasn’t the only one. He wasn’t alone. There were others just like him out there.

 No matter what happened, life continued on. As sad and gloomy as it got, no matter the hardships you had to face. Life was ever moving and changing, like a train. And Jaime had accepted this long ago. This was his life now. He would continue on like this forever. Or, as long  as he was a kid. He had to wonder what would happen when he became a bum. You lived at the stations so long as you were a child, because that was how you made a living. But when becoming a bum, when getting older, what would happen? Would he even _be_ on the streets five years from now? Or would he be some drunkard or crackhead living on the side of the street making love to the asphalt?

 But, no. This was Jaime’s life. He had lived this way for three years now, and he wasn’t stopping anytime soon. Nothing could change the situation he was in. He was a street kid after all. Why would he want to be anywhere else or be doing anything more than this? Nothing could change his way of looking at things.

 At least, that was what he had thought.

 All that changed when he met Bart Allen.

  
  
 


	2. Warming my hands (and my heart)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! Second chapter :) Hope you all enjoy! Remember to leave a comment below. It makes my day ;)

_Keep your coins. I want change._

_-Banksy_

"And your name?"

"..."

"Well?"

"...Jaime Reyes...My name is Jaime Reyes."

"Right. And may I ask what you set to accomplish by doing this?"

"...I-I want to tell the world my story."

* * *

Usually, you slept with your palm extended and a little bit open. That way, when people saw you sleeping on some carton in a train station, they would feel bad and leave coins in your open palms. Though, you had to be careful, because if your hands were too open, other kids would come by and take your coins. Sometimes, some real jackasses in suits (the rich guys!) would steal from you as well.

Full grown adults would steal...from homeless children.

Jaime had long since lost his faith in humanity.

Anyway, Jaime woke up that morning to a hand full of change. It always was better to start off your day with some extra cash. Maybe he could go and buy some glue with it, or trade it in for some glue from the other kids. Jaime's dirty, grimy hands rubbed at his tired eyes. He hadn't gotten a good sleep the previous night. It wasn't that this particular terminal was too loud or anything. It was that he wasn't used to living there as of then.

They had only just arrived there a few days ago. Jaime hadn't even exited the station at this point! He was too busy exploring his surroundings and getting to know the place better. He wanted to be able to memorize each turn and passageway. Each stain and graffiti mark. He wanted to be able to see all the sights and hear all the sounds their new base had to offer.

He would be staying here for a while, after all.

He stretched his aching back (sleeping on the floor would do that to you) and let out a sigh, getting up and looking around to see if anybody else was there. There were a couple of kids he recognized around. Others that were complete strangers as well. In the distance, he could see Damian and Tim huddling together for warmth. Though, Jaime wasn't that cold. Even though it was winter and it had snowed at least twice since they had arrived here, the terminals were usually warm, so long as the doors were shut. He had heard Tim was sick from someone, so maybe that was why.

Jaime pulled at his too big long-sleeved blue and white striped shirt. It was way past dirty and was starting to get holes in it. Come to think of it, so were his jeans. Jaime made a mental note to get a new change of clothes as soon as he could afford it. Hopefully he _could_ afford it. Hopefully he wouldn't waste the money on glue instead.

Hopefully, he wouldn't have to steal.

His shoes were completely intact though, Jaime noted proudly. Not a stain on them. They were slightly worn, but in mint condition nonetheless. Jaime liked his shoes. He had worked hard for this particular pair. And so, he took good care of them. And they took good care of him in return.

They were Adidas. And they were awesome.

Jaime could distinctly hear yelling in the distance and looked over to see one of the bigger kids and deemed "leader", Dick, yelling at Artemis. Artemis glared right back over at him, and started yelling as well. Something about her owing him money, or something. That was why Jaime tended not to make deals out here. Things usually got out of hand.

He sadly noted that Dick's lovely raven locks were longer than Artemis's blonde and buzz-cut hair.

She, like many of the other girls, pretended that she was an actual boy.

Though being out on the streets was dangerous for anyone, it was especially dangerous for the girls and the pretty, young boys who could sometimes be mistaken as girls. Jaime wasn't stupid. He knew what the word "rape" meant, and how it happened to lots of the young and good-looking kids out there. He also knew that Artemis had a history of attempted rape against her, and that she had always fought back against her attackers. She was raised in an orphanage. A really _bad_ orphanage.

So, that people would stop bothering her, the fourteen year old had shaved her head and went around telling everyone she was a boy. Some people in the "group" still thought that she was a boy! Really, the only reason Jaime knew was because of Blue.

Blue.

"Blue" was what everyone had nicknamed him. He was one of the older kids in the group and probably the one that Jaime looked up to the most. It was kind of weird that he had been nicknamed "Blue", though, since he didn't have blue eyes or blue hair or anything crazy like that. He was actually pretty average looking. Well, as average looking as a street rat could get.

And Jaime really liked him.

He was headstrong, knew his way around and _always_ got what he wanted. _And_ he had his priorities set straight. He was the master of odd jobs and had been the one to convince Jaime to start helping out by being a sort of delivery boy to those who would want to employ him in the first place (not a lot of people wanted to hire a homeless, street kid). Blue was probably the coolest guy he knew. He had that boyish look and rebellious spark in his eyes that all fourteen year olds had. Jaime really looked up to the guy. They had sort-of-kind-of became friends after Blue saved him from getting beat-up by these older kids one time. Despite the age gap, the two hung around together when Blue wasn't with friends or doing odd jobs. All around, Blue was pretty cool.

The only problem was that he was probably one of the worst paint-users out there.

Blue had once told Jaime that glue was overrated, and that he should try paint sometime. Jaime had flat out told him no (which was kind of scary because Blue was a very intimidating guy and you didn't want to get him mad; especially when he was high) because paint was more dangerous than glue in his opinion. Paint caused hallucinations, anyway. To him, glue was better and had less side effects than paint. Though, he knew the risks of taking both were pretty similar (death). He was sure that Blue knew too.

Blue was an avid user, meaning he wasted all his money on the stuff. It was kind of sad to see him high off his mind because he couldn't do anything for himself and sometimes started crying like he was a kid, or something. Seeing Blue cry was like seeing the strongest and best person you knew cry; all around weird and something you just wanted to forget about completely. But it was quite difficult to forget about Blue's sessions, considering they were so frequent and you could hear Dick yelling at him to snap out of it half-way across the station. Blue also smoked and constantly had liquor, but then again, so did Jaime. Actually, so did _everyone_.

He remembered once how Blue had sat him down, let out a big puff of smoke from the butt he had been having and said, "Kid; Don't wait for the perfect moment, take the moment and make it fucking perfect..." Of course, when he said this, he was high as _fuck_ and then proceeded to laugh his ass off until he couldn't breathe anymore. But, Jaime understood what he had been trying to say and took the words to heart.

Life wasn't going to come to him if he just stood around waiting. If opportunity doesn't knock, then Jaime was going to build his own damn door!

He was tired of waiting around for somebody to come and find him. Someone to come and help him, to take him away from all his pain and problems. So, he had struck out on his own. It was as simple as that.

Jaime squeezed the coins tightly in his palm until he was sure they left a clear, red mark, and left the terminal for the first time that day with the echoes of inane yelling ingrained in the back of his mind.

* * *

"How old are you Jaime?"

"I think fourteen, now..."

"You think?"

"Well, I never really knew."

"No?"

"No."

"Huh. Any siblings? Family members?"

"No."

"Are you sure-?"

" _Yes_."

"Alright then. Any close friends or companions we should know about?"

"...Yes."

* * *

He met him that night.

Honestly, Jaime had just been tired and wanted to go to bed. He had stayed up most of the previous night trying to get comfortable and had had a long, tough day. Work had been very slow that morning, and Jaime had barely managed to collect anything at all. Meaning, he hadn't sold much either. And after all that scavenging, he had been too exhausted to attempt to do any odd jobs for anybody. And it had been far too early to go to sleep. So, he had spent the rest of the afternoon hanging out with some friends (Cassie, Barbara, the likes) and sniffing paint as well as trading in a bag with La'gaan in return for some of his rum. To be blatantly honest, Jaime preferred vodka. But whatever it was he had drank had woken him up for the time being. He had figured that he would just get an early sleep that night.

Of course they all decided to go out and drag an exhausted Jaime with them. Of course he was lost now, separated from the group and alone in a city where he had never been before.

 _Of course_.

Sighing, his warm breath staining the chilly mid-December air, Jaime walked along the ground, the snow falling from overhead and making its way atop his head. Luckily, Jaime had managed to come across an ugly dark blue and grey jacket that he currently had wrapped around him like a blanket. Jaime liked snow, by all means. Just not when he was outside stranded in it.

 _Awesome_.

Eventually, Jaime came across an opening in the wall near a couple of pipes. Laughter and yelling could be heard coming from inside, and Jaime knew he shouldn't go in there because it wasn't his place or right to explore and exploit it. But at this point, his fingers were about to freeze off, and he was too cold to care. The gentle snowflakes that had been falling before had now become a relentless storm, and his Adidas shoes wouldn't be able to hold up in these poor weather conditions for much longer.

So, he entered.

And it was warm. Like, _really_ warm. He knew that kids usually found places to settle down during the winter, but _damn_ this was something! How smart was it to live next to the heating pipes? Whoever had come up with the idea had to be a genius. For a second, and only a second, Jaime felt slightly jealous that he didn't have a place like this to stay. But then it was gone and so was Jaime's thoughts of a warm home and home-cooked meals.

Jaime was content with his life. Really, he was.

He was just in the middle of silently debating whether he should sneak away quietly of stick it out here unnoticed for the night when he was interrupted mid-thought.

"Wow. _You_ look worse for wear..."

Jaime's blood ran cold and he almost let out a yelp of shock, but instead bit his tongue until he was sure he was drawing blood and whipped around so fast that his head began to spin (still a little high, he supposed).

There stood one of the most beautiful boys he had ever seen.

He had on a big, green jacket that was about two sizes too big for him and ripped in multiple places. The same could be said for his unzipped grey hoodie, orange t-shirt that hung a bit too low showing off some nasty scars on his chest, and his baggy jeans with multiple holes in them. A head of brownish-reddish hair was sticking out from under his hood and he had the greenest eyes that Jaime had ever seen. They were so pretty, they looked like jewels. Said eyes were intensely focused on a matchbox and match that were in his dirty hands. He seemed to be playing with them, lighting the match on fire, then putting it out by a hole in the matchbox, and repeating the two-step process. Jaime couldn't help but watch intently and wonder how the _hell_ he was doing that, as it seemed impossible.

He stopped suddenly, and turned his green eyes to meet Jaime's brown ones in an intense gaze. Jaime felt his breath catch in his throat and it felt as though his heart had stopped beating momentarily. Embarrassed, he felt his ears begin to turn red and cheeks begin to flush as he realized that he had been staring at the boy, mouth agape and eyes bugging out. He cleared his throat awkwardly, and averted his gaze to the ground. His eyes darted back up to the boy, expecting to see him mad or something, but instead was quite surprised to see him smiling over at him. The green-eyed boy let out a giggle so childish that Jaime couldn't help the warm feeling that rushed through him.

He also couldn't help the small smile that formed on his face as well.

' _What are you doing!? You don't even know the kid! Run! Run now!_ ' his mind was screaming at him, but Jaime was apparently rooted in place while the kid was sitting on one of the pipes, staring down at him. The two continued smiling stupidly at each other just like that for another minute or so. There were yells and screams in the background from some of the other kids that were apparently staying there, but Jaime barely noticed them. Maybe this was one of those places that welcomed anybody and everybody in? Probably. It explained why the boy was being so friendly, anyway.

The boy suddenly scooted over, placing the matchbox and match down, and patted the spot on the pipe next to him, all the while grinning over at Jaime. He wanted him to come sit down.

' _Run, you idiot! RUN!'_

Jaime went and sat down next to the kid. Perhaps not one of his best ideas, but he did it anyways. They continued on like this in silence, simply listening to the sounds of the laughter of children and the far off noises of the trains station. Until, finally, the boy spoke up.

"What were you doing out in that blizzard?" he questioned, cocking his head to the side in curiosity. The words 'looking for you' came to mind, but Jaime threw them out the window so fast, that not even he knew he had thought it.

"Um, I got lost..." Jaime explained, fiddling with his thumbs awkwardly as he kicked idly at the pipe they were sitting on with the heel of his foot.

"My friends. They lost me. And then it started snowing. And I found this place, and it looked warm, so I..." He trailed off, not really sure how to explain that he had "accidentally" stowed away in their base. For all he knew, he could still be in the danger of receiving punishment for doing so.

Rule number one on the streets? Never trust anybody. _Ever_. Even if you knew them really well. Even if you're part of their "group". You always had to be careful. _Always_.

"Huh. How old are you?" the boy asked, picking up Jaime's hand from where it lay lazily on the warm pipe. He began fiddling with it, looking at it seemingly with great interest. Jaime came to the conclusion that he was a palm reader. Cool. Hey! Maybe he could read minds too?

 _Double cool_.

"I'm ten!" he stated proudly, puffing up his chest to make it look like he was as strong as a regular man. That didn't last long though, as the boy giggled and Jaime literally deflated back into the sitting position that he had been in before. He began pouting (something he did constantly while begging), jutting out his upper lip. He turned back to the boy.

"What about you?" he questioned, "How old are you?"

The boy continued staring at his palm, turning it over and squeezing it into a fist making an _'Mmmph'_ sound all the while. Jaime desperately wanted to ask him what he was doing, but forced his mouth shut and just continued on watching intently from the sidelines.

"Anywhere between the ages of six and nine, I think..." he answered, looking as though he was really contemplating whether or not that was the right age. After a second, though, he nodded to himself and went back to inspecting Jaime's hand, which kind of felt numb at this point. Jaime blinked in confusion.

"You think?" the question tumbled out of his lips in surprise. What kind of a person didn't know their own age? The boy bit his lip and seemed to focus even _more_ on studying Jaime's hand, as though it was the most important hand in the world. Jaime couldn't help but feel the blush starting to form on his cheeks. And the more he felt like he was blushing, the more flushed he became.

_'AND now I look like a tomato. Awesome.'_

"Well, I never really knew to begin with." he answered, finally setting Jaime's palm back down onto the pipe. Oddly enough, Jaime found that the kid's hands had been warmer than the heating pipe itself. Their eyes met and they continued to stare at each other before the boy suddenly burst into a fit of laughter. He was laughing so hard, that spittle was flying everywhere and snot was rushing rapidly form his nose.

Jaime was scared that he was high for a second.

"Why are you laughing?" Jaime questioned, his curiosity greater than the urgency to feel the need to hightail it out of there at that very instant. The boy grinned up at him, let out another giggle. Jaime couldn't help but notice that he had a very pretty laugh, even _with_ the spit flying everywhere.

"The real question is why aren't _you_? You don't always need a reason to laugh! You just...do it sometimes!" And then he broke off laughing again, his eyes filling with tears as he curled up on the pipe in a fetal position.

Jaime felt the sudden urge to laugh. So he did.

He laughed until there was spittle flying from his _own_ mouth and snot was beginning to form at the base of his upper lip. He laughed until his vision began to blur from the tears. And it felt really _good_ to laugh. Because, the boy was right! Everyone needed a good laugh now and then. And _this_ , Jaime thought, was _so_ much better than crying.

They laughed until they toppled off of the pipe.

"You alright back there, kid?" an unknown voice questioned, and suddenly the boy's eyes widened in panic and he ceased laughing all too quickly for Jaime's liking. Jaime, too, had stopped laughing. The moment was over now, and Jaime's brow creased in confusion and worry.

What was going on?

Faster than he could even comprehend, the boy was pulling him up and all but dragging him towards a set of pipes with an opening behind them. A perfect hiding place, Jaime realized. Now he was really starting to worry, but allowed the kid to drag him along, nonetheless.

"Come _on_! _Quickly_!" The boy's tone had a real sense of urgency to it, and Jaime found himself sprinting behind the pipes that concealed them from others searching eyes. The two kneeled there, eyes wide and breathing shaky from both exhaustion and terror. Jaime peeked through an opening in the pipes to see a bigger kid looking around, almost as though he was searching for something or someone and-

Oh. _Oh_.

He was looking for them.

The small investigation only lasted about a minute (longest minute of Jaime's life!) before the teen shrugged, let out a puff of cigarette smoke, and walked calmly back to where he had come from before. Jaime sat in complete stillness, though, apparently frozen in terror. His breathing was labored and he let out a shaky breath that he hadn't even been aware he was holding in.

Suddenly, his head was being buried into the warmth of another person's chest. Said person was shaking as much as Jaime was. Jaime wasn't much of a hugger. In fact, he wasn't one for physical contact at all, really. But, he supposed that was because he had never been subjected to it. Never experienced it for himself. Not in a long while, anyway.

Was this what it felt like to be hugged? If so, then _God_ , had he been missing out!

Jaime wrapped his arms around the boy's torso, and nuzzled his head into the boy's warm body. He didn't usually huddle for warmth (or "cuddle" at all, for that matter), so this felt surprisingly nice. Jaime figured that he had really needed a hug. Considering that he had gone for years at that point without much physical contact, this was an odd and new sensation that he couldn't help but like.

The boy leaned into the contact as well, cradling Jaime's head in his arms and whispering something softly in Jaime's ear.

"Don't worry. I'm not going to let them hurt you. You're safe with me."

So this _hadn't_ been a public base. Meaning, if Jaime had been caught hiding here, he would have been beaten in punishment. Meaning, the boy had saved him. Even though they had only known each other now for a couple of minutes.

This was an _extremely_ difficult situation for Jaime to wrap his tiny, little head around, that was for sure.

The two stayed like that for another minute or so, just taking in each other's body heat and comfort before Jaime separated and stared the boy in the eyes. He really liked looking him in the eyes. They were the prettiest green he had ever seen. And he didn't even really _like_ the color green! Though, he had a feeling that he was going to reevaluate and change that in the near future because of this encounter.

And then, the boy cracked another grin in his direction and all the fear and anxiety that Jaime had previously had simply melted away. His heartbeat felt like it was a million times louder than it should've been and when he beamed back at the younger boy, realized that it wasn't a fake smile like those he was so used to giving when people spared him coins on the streets, but a genuine one.

Jaime realized that he hadn't genuinely smiled like this in a long time.

"What's your name?" Jaime asked him, wanting to lean back into him and fall asleep on his small chest, listening to the boy's slow but steady heartbeat. But that was a really weird thought, especially since they had just met each other, so Jaime refrained from doing so. The boy's smile went even wider (if that was even possible) and Jaime realized that, like himself, he must have been one of the lucky ones to get a toothbrush because he still had all his teeth intact and they weren't too discolored or anything.

"Bart Allen!" he exclaimed, as he stuck out a tiny, filthy little hand in a form of greeting, "It's nice to meet you! Wanna be friends?"

Jaime's grin became larger as well, the fear and cold he had been feeling for the past hour now completely forgotten. He didn't know why, but he suddenly had this funny feeling in his chest, almost like he was floating. And, as he took the kids-no, _Bart's_ \- hand in his own and shook it, he felt a sudden spark sort of rush through him as though he had suddenly been shocked or something.

It was weird and amazing and terrifying all at once.

"Mine's Jaime Reyes. Right back at ya!" he responded giddily, and his grin grew to the point where he was pretty sure he was tearing some skin, as the answer that had formulated on his tongue fell out in response to Bart's question.

"And, yeah. I'd like that _very much_."

* * *

Jaime returned to the train station the next morning with a bag full of bread and a stomach full of butterflies.


	3. Trouble in Paradise

 

_And not a single fuck was given that day._

"What was it like?"

"What was what like?"

"Living out there in the train station, begging for money from people you didn't even know. Was it hard?"

"What do _you_ think?"

* * *

 

Sometimes, group members would fight. And when that happened, Jaime just felt like shutting himself down completely. Sometimes, he wished he had a switch that he could flick that would turn him on and off at any given moment. It would be much easier that way.

But, alas, he couldn't help but stay awake and listen to the sound of skin meeting skin and profanities yelled out at one another well into the cold nights in the terminals. It was actually a pretty normal occurrence, but Jaime hated when it happened nonetheless.

What was the point in fighting if they were all trying to survive together?

Jaime awoke one early morning while the moon was still high in the sky and the sun not even visible to others when he was harshly shaken awake by Garfield. The young boy with matted brown hair and too many freckles to count pointed over to where you could here unwavering bickering and shrieking.

They sounded like they were really going at it.

Usually, it was only the older kids that fought. The younger kids were too afraid to even speak up for themselves half the time, and, much like Jaime, didn't see the point in fighting when it only made it worse for you in the end. But, most of the older kids wanted to do there own thing control the group, so they were constantly fighting over leadership and their right to do what they wanted, among other things.

The thing was, even though they considered themselves to be a "group", they weren't _actually_ one. Most of them came and went by the end of the seasons or simply stalked off and did their own thing for a while. No matter how much they tried or wanted one, they probably would never have a leader of their own because they didn't even have a _group_ of their own. All it was was that it made more sense for them to stick together and help each other out sometimes, rather than strike off on their own.

Survival of the fittest, among other things, Jaime supposed.

"Let's go over there and check it out!" Garfield whisper-yelled in his ear, shocking Jaime out of his thoughts. He was still half asleep, and couldn't really bring himself to care about anything other than the back of his eyelids, but sighed and got up nonetheless, making his way over to the howling in the near distance.

Jason and Conner were fighting. _Again_.

Pretty much everyone was awake by now, simply watching the scene unfold in front of them. Conner was red in the face, and looked seconds away from punching somebody while Jason glared up murderously at the strong teen. Though he was small by comparison, he had more courage and strength than probably any of the other group members. Except for maybe Blue. And that was only a _maybe_.

"You go around acting like you're some big shot!" Conner scowled, glaring down at Jason, "But really? You're just some scrawny little _kid_! You don't know nothing! You ain't big enough to pretend like you're something you're not, Todd! Might as well go home crying to mommy…Oh! That's right; You don't _have one..._ "

Conner smirked, like he was taking some sort of twisted delight or pleasure in verbally abusing Jason. It was as though he had made it his personal goal to belittle everyone there. Jaime just feared the day when it would be his turn.

Jason's grin turned feral, and he dangerously neared Conner so that they were almost nose to nose now. Despite the height difference and shocking contrast in muscle mass, a look of fear still passed through Conner's eyes. Which, Jaime completely understood. After all; Jason was _terrifying_. And the prospect of facing off one on one against him _literally_ made Jaime want to piss his pants.

Infact, if he had been Conner in that situation, he would have booked it out of there faster then you could say "Señora suckers!". Jason was _that_ fucking scary.

"That's rich coming from you! Since, last I checked, you didn't have any either! Or, wait! You have a brother, don't you? Didn't he kick out your _sorry ass_?"

Conner's eyes bulged out of their sockets, and he looked seconds away from crushing Jason with his pinky finger. Obviously, Jason had hit a soft spot, and Conner was not happy about it. A round of hushed whispers settled across the part of the terminal that they were inl, as it seemed like everybody's eyes were on the two boys who were visibly staring each other down.

Man, if looks could kill…

"YOU SON OF A-!"

" _Enough_."

Jaime whipped around so that he was facing whoever had just interrupted the fight that he had just been begging get into. He paled upon doing so, realising instantly who it was.

Dick Grayson.

Uh oh. Conner had just gone and pissed off the leader. And, not only that, but he had conveniently picked a fight with one of Dick's little brother's. Jaime had a bad feeling that he knew where this was going.

Dick angrily walked over towards the two boys, and grabbed them both by the ear, dragging them to a couple of boxes piled up near the department store that they sometimes delivered boxes and packages to. They were both whining and fighting against Dick's hold, but to no avail. Dick literally hurled them onto the carton, nostrils flaring and knuckles drawn so tightly together that they looked white.

He spoke one word. And that one word drew fear into all their hearts.

"Stick."

"Stick" was the term coined for Dick's, well... _stick_. It received that name and began striking fear into people's hearts (quite literally) when Dick had first used it to beat up Roy when he had punched a shop owner in the face. He had been so upset and angry, while Roy had just laughed it off drunkenly. So, Dick had grabbed a stick off the ground, and whapped Roy across the face with it.

Or, that was how the rumor went, anyway. And, Roy had a lovely scar on his face to go with it. It went from his mid-forehead all the way down the right side of his lower lip.

And it looked _nasty_.

Of course, Roy had received the scar before Jaime (actually, before _any_ of the younger kids) had joined the group. Meaning, they were left to believe only rumours that the bigger and original kids said happened. Blue was actually one of them, but he said that it was just a stupid story, and that Jaime was an idiot to even believe that it was remotely real. But, Jaime couldn't help but be a little scared of Dick and his omnipresent "stick".

Because, to a ten year old kid, that kind of thing was _terrifying_.

Jason stared up with wide eyes, and instantly began to protest, saying that he was sorry and he wouldn't do it again. He looked horrified, and Jaime realised it was because he knew what was to come. Jason wasn't stupid. He recognized that Dick wouldn't hesitate to beat him, just because he was his brother. Tim and Damian were hugging each other tightly, looking on fearfully and most probably wondering what was going to happen to their brother. They also knew the risks of living out here, and how ruthless Dick really could be.

Conner on the other hand kept up his tough act, simply glaring at the floor in front of him. Megan looked like she wanted to rush through the crowd of people and towards Conner faster than her little feet could carry her, but was apparently rooted to place in terror. It was obvious that she liked him, and that he liked her back. Almost as obvious as Wally and Artemis liking each other. Actually, that one _wasn't_ very obvious. But, according to Blue, fighting each other was one of the first signs of liking each other. And who better to know that then Blue; the guy who knew everything?

"Please, Dick! I won't do it again! I promise! I'll-!"

A resounding _'thwack'_ filled the room, and left a nasty imprint on all their minds. Jaime had squeezed his eyes shut so hard, he was starting to feel dizzy. When he opened them a crack, he could see Jason clutching his now red cheek and crying silently, rocking back and forth. Dick still had his stick raised, as though to hit him more.

He did.

And Jaime regretted opening his eyes at all.

Eventually, Dick turned to Conner and began doing the same to him. Jaime had to give him props, because he took it like a _man_. He sat completely still, biting his lip, and let out a yelp once or twice, but that was it. There were no tears. There were no sobs. Jaime wondered whether or not Conner even _could_ cry. He didn't really seem like the type to do so, and Jaime thought that it would look pretty pitiful to see someone like Conner cry.

It'd be kind of like seeing Blue cry.

Jason let out another little whimper whilst Conner continued glaring at the ground angrily. Maybe angry at Dick. Maybe angry at the world. Maybe angry that people were letting things like this happen. Things like kids living in poverty or being murdered every day.

Maybe angry at himself.

Dick turned back to Jason, and began to approach him. The boy let out another moan, and put his hands in front of his face, as though to shield himself from another attack. Dick stared down at him, before tilting his younger brother's head upwards and looking into his watery blue eyes.

"Stop crying."

Jason stared up at Dick with these wide eyes, and Jaime's heart went out to the poor kid. If Jaime had a brother or sister and they had beaten him up, then he would probably be blubbering as well. Dick actually leaned in and wiped some of his tears away.

"You did something real bad, Jay. You and Kon stole from a shop owner. Now i'm left to deal with the consequences. Do you know what happens next?" he asked, and Jaime got the feeling that he wasn't just asking Jason, but all of them. Jason shook his head, still staring up at his older brother with a tint of fear in his eyes.

"It means that we all have to go out and make up the money for what you dumbasses stole, that's what it means!"

Nobody whined. Nobody complained. They all knew better than to test Dick's limits.

They simply complied with the order. No hesitation. No rebellion.

Completely and utterly _obedient_.

* * *

"Any favourite colors, Jaime? Favourite animals?"

"No."

" _No_?"

"It's stupid. You people would rather focus on what somebody's favourite food to eat is, or what their favourite colors are rather than notice that there are people starving out there. People dying."

"..."

"And then you pretend that you're not guilty of it. Like, yeah right! _Everybody is._ "

* * *

"Cigarette?"

Jaime looked over to see Tim offering him a rolled up cancer stick and a lighter. He nodded, and took the two in his hands, lighting the lighter and setting the cigarette aflame. He put it to his lips, inhaling deeply, only to exhale swiftly and watch the smoke float up through the cold, December night. The wind whipped harshly in the sky, cutting through Jaime like a blade. He shivered and attempted to warm himself up by hugging his arms to his side, causing him to walk funny.

It didn't work.

He sighed, his breath now carrying along the wind along with the smoke. If only it wasn't so bloody cold! If only he weren't out here so late at night. Of course, it wasn't _his_ fault. It was Jason and Conner's. The two were going to receive much hate from the group in the near future. And they sure as hell deserved it, too!

When somebody from the group messed up, they all payed the price.

Because Conner and Jason had decided to be _idiots_ and go rob from a man who owned a shop that they occasionally worked for, the shop owner had instantly recognized them and had demanded that his money be given back. Of course, if it wasn't, he would probably phone the police and maybe even get them in jail, which wasn't good. What would be even worse was if they were kicked out of living in the train station.

Because, then they would _truly_ be homeless…

And so, they would all pitch in with their fair share of begging and collecting and selling of things until they managed to earn the money back. Even if that meant staying up all night in the freezing cold to do so.

Because, they had each other's backs.

Jaime had instantly called "dibs" on Tim, and the two boys had headed out together. Tim was about his age, maybe a couple of months older, so it was easier to open up and talk to him rather than say, Conner or Dick. Maybe even Blue. The only thing was that Tim was pretty quiet, as he had learned that opening your mouth out here could get you in some serious trouble. So, while he was a great listener, it was kind of hard to hold a decent conversation with him.

But that was fine. Everyone had their flaws, right?

Jaime took another drag before handing the lighter back to Tim, mumbling a "thanks" and hopping that he wouldn't have to pay Time back for that. He barely had enough for this week, as it was. He couldn't afford to go around making enemies and building up debts for him to shove into the back of his mind and never pay off. But, usually, Tim was pretty lenient about stuff like that. He wasn't like that. Wouldn't trick people.

Tim was nice. And Jaime could respect that.

"So. How's your brother?"

Jaime didn't know whether or not Tim knew which brother he was referring to. And honestly, it could be either one. Because, the question wasn't so much "How's your brother doing?" but "Are you okay?".

Tim stared up at him with this dead look in his eyes. He clenched his jaw and squeezed his clammy fists together tightly. Jaime silently wondered whether or not he was venturing into unknown territory, and pondered on whether or not he should backtrack. But, after a long pause that seemed like forever to the young boy, Tim finally spoke up.

"Jason's fine. So is Dick. We're all a little shaken up, but we'll be…"

The rest of his sentence was lost to Jaime, as he spoke something that was barely over a whisper. Jaime assumed it was the word "fine". He also assumed that they were _not_ fine. Tim stared at the ground for a long time after that, and that was it. The two continued on in complete silence, Jaime not pushing the matter and Tim not saying anything more on the subject.

Unlike some people, Jaime respected personal space.

They walked on like that for a while more, eventually stopping at a usually busy street corner that wasn't so busy (it was probably about 4:00 in the morning. It was expected…) where they begged in silence. Jaime was beginning to tire of that word, but said nothing as people walked them by, ignoring them as though they were the scum of the century.

Which, in a way, they were.

They were dirty and vile and venomous. They had not a care in the world for anybody but themselves, and only aided those that could help them in their own personal gain. They beat up old, drunkards and stole from shop owners. They snuck onto trains and slept on the floor like they were animals which, once again, in a way they were.

But, they weren't the only animals out there.

Businessmen constantly scammed people, while all the rich were greedy and envious of others. They were the richer, the better, the cleaner. They were the predators. They believed that they were home free, simply because they had a designated position in society. Simply because they had made a name for themselves.

But that simply wasn't the case.

Really, they were probably more dirty and vile than half the people Jaime knew. Just because they weren't physically homeless or dirty, didn't mean that they were completely "normal". Nobody was normal. Jaime had figured that out a while ago, too.

Because, their hearts were homeless. Because, they had no love in them.

Because they were incapable of caring.

And that was really what set the humans aside from the animals. The ability to feel and care for somebody else other than yourself. The way that Jaime and his group cared for each other? The way that they all had each others back in their times of need? _That_ was what made them so rich. Because, being rich didn't always entail some big house, or a huge wardrobe.

Some people had rich courage. Others, a rich heart.

So. Jaime really didn't understand the whole concept of "the richer you are, the better life you lead". Because, most of the people he saw out there chattering away on their phones or typing on their devices didn't _look_ happy. Infact, they looked like they were more depressed than most of them street kids! Jaime, himself? He was content where he was for the moment. He was getting enough to get by, he had friends that would stick by him, he even had his Adidas shoes!

Not many people he knew could say they had those, could they?

So, Jaime counted himself as one of the lucky ones, actually. Lucky he had all the things that he had. Lucky that he had such great friends and people to look up to. Lucky that he knew the real truth, he supposed.

That you don't have to be rich to be happy.

That, sometimes, living on the streets isn't such a bad thing.

That being rich and being _rich_ were two different things entirely…

* * *

They returned to the train station with pockets filled with coins but no richer than when they had first arrived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new chapter should be out soon. Sorry for the delay! Haven't been feeling really inspired lately...


	4. Barefoot Children

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Bart take a walk. Things take a turn. But, a good or a bad one?

 

_Some people are so poor, all they have is money_

"Was it cold?"

"We lived in a _train station_."

"Yes, i'm aware. But was it _cold_?"

"What kind of an _idiot_ would ask a question like _that_?"

* * *

He went to visit Bart every morning before his daily scavenging.

And it was _always_ the highlight of his day.

Bart was probably the nicest boy he had met in ages. He even rivalled that of Gar's kindness, which was pretty impressive, considering Gar was, well... _Gar_! He was also the _prettiest_ boy Jaime had met in a while. So, Jaime couldn't help but feel all weird and tingly when he was around him, only because he would be considered what a lot of people saw as "good looking".

Of course, he said this in the most platonic way possible. He and Bart were just friends.

Nothing more, nothing less.

But still, he couldn't help but feel his cheeks start to heat up when Bart stared at him with his pullulating green eyes, or get all hot and embarrassed when he smiled over at him and pushed some of his ginger-like hair from his eyes.

He wouldn't deny the fact that he found Bart slightly attractive.

He would, however, deny wanting to be romantically infatuated with the young boy. Because, he wasn't. There was nothing between he and Bart. Nothing at all. No chemistry, no secret "love" starting to form.

His life was not a story book. And, if it was, it was a tragedy. _Not_ a romance.

Still, he and Bart actually became _very_ close. Unlike the others at the train station, who he saw every day and could easily tire of, the young boy was a breath of fresh air. Something new to explore. An "adventure", if you would.

Jaime always went to go and visit him in the little hideout that he had accidentally stumbled upon what now seemed like eons ago. It was warm and nice and just felt more like a proper home then where Jaime actually _lived_ (if you could call that living...). The entire thing was a new experience, and Jaime was going to milk as much out of it as he could.

Perhaps this was what he had been searching for all his life.

 _Perhaps_.

But once again, despite their closeness, Jaime _had_ to reiterate the fact that they were _just friends_. All this to say, Jaime liked Bart. But, he didn't _like_ him.

Confusing. Yes, he knew.

The two seemed to get along so swiftly, it was like they had known each other all their lives. As though they were closer than the closest of friends. And, it was amazing! The fact that you could meet someone you had never known before and right off the bat just..."click".

He and Bart had _definitely_ "clicked", _that_ was for sure.

Anyways, they usually just hung around where they had first met, talking lowly and giggling softly so that the others would not hear them. Usually, they played game like hide-and-go-seek or "I Spy", despite knowing basically all of the hiding spots and things in the small and compact space. But, it didn't really matter.

In the end, they were having fun. So, it was okay.

But, sometimes, Jaime admitted that he wanted more. He wanted to move and run around. He wasn't one to be limited to tiny spaces for long periods of time. And, he frequently found himself bored crammed between those heating pipes, despite being with Bart.

Bart whom, apparently, very much enjoyed being in his place of comfort. He evidently preferred staying in the safe haven that was the heating pipes, for there was no danger there. Nothing was assured out in the big bad world, yes, but Bart wasn't going to get anything done by being a sitting duck in this damned place! He had tried explaining this to the boy once, whilst attempting to convince him to go outside with him. But, Bart had blatantly refused to listen to anything Jaime had to say. So, Jaime was stuck being stranded _inside_ with a really cool person that he wanted to be _outside_ with.

Yes, they occasionally went outside for small walks. But that was only _occasionally_ and they always stayed near the "base". They never ventured out as far as Jaime would like to, anyways. And, that was fine, he supposed. After all, Bart was one of those people who would rather stick closer to home. Maybe he was scared of venturing off too far to find the "adventure" that Jaime so craved for.

He didn't want to push the boy. He didn't want to undo all the trust that they had built up over the last couple of months.

So, Jaime waited.

Waited for the day when Bart would finally be ready to walk further than a few steps away from his safety zone. Waited for him to be ready to realize that there was more to life than a couple of heating pipes. That, in order to find yourself, you had to go and try as well as experience new things!

Follow the train tracks of your life, no matter where they led.

He waited and waited and _waited_. It felt like forever, even though he knew that that wasn't a thing. Everything ended eventually. It was just a matter of time.

Which was partly why Jaime waited for so long. Bart would come around eventually, right? No, scratch that! It wasn't even a question. Bart _would_ come around. Jaime knew it.

And, in the end, he was right. Bart _did_ come around.

Just, not everything went the way Jaime had expected it to…

* * *

"So, you persist that you have no favourite season, but talk about the snow as though it's some sort of miracle from the heavens above."

"Heaven doesn't exist. Neither do miracles."

"Quite a downer, aren't we?"

"I'd rather be a downer then pretend to be something i'm not."

* * *

"So, this is snow. If you haven't ever experienced _that_ before…"

Jaime grinned over in Bart's direction, unable to keep the huge smile off his face. Apparently, it had been permanently plastered to his face ever since earlier on in the day when Bart had told him he wanted to go for a longer walk than usual. And, despite how stupid it may have looked, Jaime couldn't really bring himself to care.

After all, this was _pretty much_ like a dream come true.

It was a Tuesday morning, and a gorgeous one at that. The snowflakes that fell from up above seemed to float more gracefully than they usually did. Infact, everything seemed more peaceful as well as tranquil that fine morning.

In hindsight, the reason for that was probably Bart. He seemed to have that kind of effect on _everything_.

Said boy snorted and rolled his green eyes in a dramatic fashion. He stuck his tongue out in Jaime's direction before crossing his arms over his chest and pouting (also quite dramatically).

"Yeah, yeah! I'm a shut in. Quit your teasing!"

Jaime couldn't help but laugh at that, because Bart was just so cute when he tried to defend himself. Or offend you. Or do both at the same time. Actually, he was just adorable in general.

The only reason for this being that he was _Bart_. He was, what some people called, "one-of-a-kind".

"Alright, alright! I'll stop. But, I can't help it that you're so adorable! You're like a little baby kitten!"

To which Jaime received the finger.

And proceeded to burst out laughing.

It was days like these where Jaime really appreciated people like Bart. There weren't many people like him left, but the few that were still around were absolutely incredible. Bart just seemed to have this...energy surrounding him that promised happy times and good vibes for the future. People like him were the reason that Jaime _himself_ was still around.

There weren't that many good people left in the world. People like Bart were a reason to keep going. To keep _living_.

The point being, not many people could make Jaime laugh anymore. And Bart was one of those people.

So, Jaime appreciated him for that.

"So, mister "I want to go on an adventure"... _where_ exactly are we going?" Bart questioned quizzically, his eyebrows furrowing in an inquisitive manner. Jaime, who just so happened to be leading the way, raised his finger in a show of determination, stopping for a minute to stomp one foot into the ground and narrow his eyes like a real explorer would.

" _I_...have no idea…"

To which Bart physically deflated.

"W-what do you _mean_ you don't know where we're going!? _You're_ the one who wanted to go on an adventure in the _first place_!" Bart exclaimed, stopping suddenly in his tracks. They were now receiving a few weird looks from passerby's. Whether it be because of their disheveled appearance or incessant yelling, Jaime had no idea.

At least they weren't ignoring them. Jaime hated when that happened.

When people pretended that they weren't there just because they had on some scruffy clothing and a cup filled with loose change in their hands. Acted as if they didn't exist because, if they didn't, then maybe the problem wouldn't either.

Homelessness. Abuse. Starvation. Suicide.

They said that ignorance was bliss. And they were right. But, those who knew fully well of the situation and simply pretended to be ignorant of their position were simply cruel. The fact that they still thought themselves entitled to walk past those in desperate need of their help and continue on happily with their perfect lives sickened Jaime.

People were _dying_. People were _starving_.

"Hey? Um, Jaime? Helooooooooo?"

And with that, Jaime was dragged out of his inner rant. Bart was looking at him with an odd expression on his face, seemingly wondering why he had suddenly become rather silent. Jaime blushed and shook his head as though to knock some sense back into it.

He _really_ needed to stop with the inner monologues.

"Y-yeah? Sorry! Kind of... _zoned out_ there for a little while, huh?" Jaime managed out, cursing himself for stuttering, something he _also_ had to work on _not_ doing. But, instead of teasing him like Jaime expected him to, Bart simply smiled and brushed it off with an indifference that Jaime could only dream of having.

"It's all good!" he proclaimed happily, eyes filled with warmth and happiness that warmed Jaime himself. He had never seen someone transmit emotions through their eyes like Bart did. The boy was incredible. He managed to find a way to surprise Jaime every day.

It was just in his nature. A very fascinating nature, at that.

"Well, it is an "adventure" after all. Aren't we _not_ supposed to know where we're going?" Jaime decided to answer the boy's previous question with another question, raising a fine eyebrow over in his direction.

Bart stared at Jaime, mouth agape, obviously not expecting that answer, before suddenly collecting himself and letting out an exasperated huff. He then began to list all the reasons as to why Jaime was an idiot and how much better it would be if they would both return to the heating pipes right then and there. To which Jaime thoroughly disagreed and began to rebuttal each and every point that Bart brought up. This went on for a while, Bart arguing that they shouldn't be doing what they were doing and Jaime disagreeing with him each and every time.

They were doing it again.

Slipping back into that comfortable place that seemed to appear whenever Jaime hung around Bart. Falling back into that space where you didn't need to speak with words to understand somebody else. Where not every silence needed to be filled.

To anybody else, it would look as though they were just having some stupid argument. But, to Jaime, every conversation he had with Bart was cherished. Every word that fell from the boy's mouth was played on repeat in Jaime's mind over and over again.

It was as though every second he spent with Bart was the most precious thing to him.

And, Jaime didn't understand _why_.

"Thank you."

The sudden words surprised Jaime, and he found himself staring into Bart's olive-like eyes in a panicked sort of shock. The only thing was that Bart wasn't looking back at Jaime, but down at the asphalt below, shifting his feet almost awkwardly. To his dismay, Jaime barely found the courage to speak what he said next.

"W-why?" Jaime questioned the young boy, not breaking eye contact despite the fact that the redhead was not looking directly at him. He began to fumble nervously with the collar of his sweatshirt.

What the hell was Bart going on about now?

Jaime was surprised once more when Bart lifted his head to stare him directly in the eyes. He was smiling but his eyes told a different story. Filled with the sadness of someone who has witnessed a tragedy. Filled to the brim with tears Jaime knew would never fall.

"Thank you-" Bart began again, taking a deep breath to compose himself before continuing once more, "-for helping me."

Jaime was left in a shocked sort of silence.

Bart smiled a sad-like smile, letting out a sigh and pushing some of his bangs from his eyes.

"I was scared..." he explained as though Jaime should have known this from the beginning. As though it was the most obvious thing in the world, "I-I didn't know how to deal with _this_. How to go out after... _after-_ "

And then he was silent.

He didn't cry. He didn't fall to his knees. He just stared kind of sadly down at the street covered in snow below them. Jaime continued on staring in his direction in a silence that he didn't know how to break. Because, Bart had not left him with much to continue on the conversation with. All he could really do was stare at the boy like some sort of creeper would. God knows how many of those Bart had already had to deal with…

_Fucking incredible job, Jaime!_

"A-after what?" Jaime finally managed out, fidgeting awkwardly. His entire body felt stiff and he wanted to run away yet stay in the same place all at once. He had never been good with dealing with "feelings" or emotional things. It was part of the reason why he had been able to deal with living on the streets for so long. Sometimes, dealing with people was just too hard.

Bart looked at Jaime, his green eyes glassy with unused tears. He let out a sad laugh, grinning over in Jaime's direction while shaking his head almost in disbelief.

"No…" he mumbled, shaking his head more assertively than before, "No. Not _now_. Later. But, right now, _I-I can't_ -"

His voice cracked and they fell into silence once more. Jaime swallowed stiffly. His dry throat felt kind of like sandpaper. And he could only begin to imagine how Bart was feeling…

_God. Well, this turned out magnificently, didn't it?_

Jaime cleared his throat, about to tell Bart that it was alright, that he didn't care whether or not Bart told him why he felt so uncomfortable, that he would wait forever for him to be ready, when he realised something.

And this particular "something" nearly scared him to death.

" _MY GOD! YOUR_ _FUCKING_ _FEET!_ "

This shocked them both out of their everlasting silence, as Bart turned his attention to the guilty party that Jaime was staring at in horror. Because, it was nearly 3.2°F, everybody was bundled up in coats and hats galore, there had been nearly three blizzards in just that one week;

And Bart had no shoes on.

It was _fucking_ winter. And the boy had _no fucking shoes on._

"Wh-where the hell are your shoes!?" Jaime all but stuttered, and _not_ because it was cold. Bart blinked almost innocently and looked down at his feet before turning back up to Jaime. He seemed completely fine with this, as his expression held no sign of shock or surprise. It was as though he had been completely unaware of it until this point.

He shrugged.

And Jaime's jaw dropped.

"What do you mean!? You don't-I... _what_?" Jaime was apparently too shocked to get a comprehensible sentence out of his mouth. He stared at Bart with his mouth agape for a few more seconds before it snapped shut and his eyes narrowed dangerously. He walked over to the boy and shook him harshly. Bart, he realised, was almost like a rag doll. Jaime could probably pick him up and throw his across the street if he wanted to.

He didn't. _Obviously_.

"Do you meant to tell me...that you've been walking out here _the entire time_... _with no shoes_?"

Now Bart's expression explained from the blank canvas it was to a guilty look as he stared down almost awkwardly at his _un-shoed_ feet. They were extremely red, and he moved them around every now and then, sometimes even curling them so much that they turned the same white as the snow littered about the ground. Probably to deal with the pain, he realised now. He also realized that the boy was practically shivering, his entire body trembling about every five seconds.

And Jaime hadn't noticed _any_ of this earlier…

 _Wow_. How _stupid_ could he _possibly be_?

" _What_?" Jaime spoke up, almost annoyed as Bart muttered something incomprehensible under his breath. He turned back to look up at Jaime, and the little bugger was smiling this big, wide grin. Jaime's eyes widened once more.

He found himself surprised every day now that Bart was in his life.

"I didn't want to make you sad!" he exclaimed cheerily, all signs that he had been sad before disappearing completely, as though they hadn't even been there to begin with, "I-I wanted to come on the adventure with you! So, even though I have no _awesome_ shoes like you do, I did!"

Jaime stared in shock at the younger boy, words completely evading him.

Bart smiled guiltily once again, shuffling awkwardly to the left and cocking his head to the right. Some hair fell in front of his eyes making it harder to see the look of guilt in them.

"Um... _surprise_?"

And Jaime didn't even realize what he was doing until he was doing it. Until he was face to face between Bart. Until he was so close that he could feel the heat and see the shivers rolling off of him in the dead of winter.

Until he was staring him in those big, captivating, green eyes…

Jaime picked Bart up, and began the long trek back from whence they came.

* * *

"So, do you or do you not like the snow?"

"...I used to. Not anymore."

"And, why is that?"

"It...reminds me of someone. Someone i'd rather _forget_."

* * *

Bart Allen. The boy whom was what he would consider to be his "best friend". The boy he hung out with in the mornings before a long, grueling day of working hard outside in the cold temperatures of the winter. The boy who aggravated him so but always seemed to know how to make him laugh.

The boy that he didn't like.

And, he still didn't like him. Like, not _not like him_ , like, as a friend. But, _like like_. He didn't like him _that way_.

No, he told himself, you don't like him. There was just something about this weather and the tiny snowflakes that fell onto the boys face and hair that made him look serene and beautiful. Just something about two bodies being so close together, that you can hear the others hum of a heartbeat. You can feel them move, and every little whine or breath that comes out of their mouth.

Just something about _all that_ that made you feel closer to a person.

Bart Allen. The boy he didn't like but couldn't help but want more from. And, he honestly didn't know what that "more" was, but as the smaller one slept peacefully in his arms like an infant, he couldn't help but feel the urge to lean down and kiss him. Just once. A peck atop the head. No more, no less.

Yes, he told himself, there's just something about this weather. Something about having another so close to you. Something about Bart Allen that keeps you coming back for more. And, it doesn't exactly mean anything. It doesn't mean that you _like_ someone. There's just...something about it.

Something about it that makes you feel all fuzzy and warm inside. Something about it that makes your stomach flip-flop every time he stirs a little in your arms, despite the fact that you're not on a rollercoaster. Something about it that makes you smile stupidly even though there's absolutely _no reason_ for you to be smiling.

Jaime had already racked his mind about ten times, searching for any reasons as to why he could be smiling so stupidly.

 _He found none_.

So, yeah, there was something about it. And, Jaime knew that if anyone else had been in the position that he was in then, carrying another bridal style through a storm of beauty and snowflakes, that, yeah, they would have felt the same way as well! There was just something about it, was all.

Just something about it.

Just something about everything.

Just something about Bart Allen.

And, walking home on that cold day through the swarm of fallen snowflakes and the crowds of busy and uncaring people, carrying what seemed to be all the beauty and kindness of the world in his arms, Jaime realized that, okay, yeah;

 _Maybe_ he had feelings for Bart Allen.

* * *

"Who does it remind you of?"

"..."

* * *

Jaime Reyes thought he knew _everything_ there was to know about Bart Allen. After all, they were best friends. Why wouldn't he?

But, then he found out what Bart did for a living. And everything he thought he knew about the boy _changed_...

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chappie, I suppose! Please comment down below! It means the world to me!!!


	5. You're on!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next chapter! Enjoy!!! :D

_No one has ever become poor by giving._

_-Helen Keller_

"Did you ever regret it?"

"What?"

"You know...living out there? In the train station?"

" _No_."

"..."

" _Don't ask stupid questions..._ "

* * *

" _I bet I have a more interesting job than you._ "

And, that was how it had all began.

Jaime instantly stopped going through the leftover knickknacks that he had found earlier that morning to stare at Bart with a curious look on his face. He had begun visiting the boy more than once during the day. That meant, he even went to visit him after he had finished "working" or, sometimes, after reporting back with some of the others back at the train station so that they wouldn't worry.

Though, he never came in the dead of the night. Not even Jaime was so stupid as to try something as risky as that.

Who knew what kind of _creeps_ or _prowlers_ were out there during the latest hours of the night.

Though, it was beginning to become more difficult to come and visit Bart nowadays, considering the fact that, yes, Jaime was allowed to go where he wanted and do what he wanted to, but that didn't mean that some of the others weren't suspicious.

Contrary to popular belief, Jaime and his friends weren't dumb. They had twisted morals and didn't very much care for others, but they weren't stupid. Just because you didn't get A's in school, or weren't praised by some scholar didn't mean that you weren't smart.

Jaime had street smarts. And, really, out here? _That_ was what counted the most.

More than once had Jaime and his friends found themselves in a sticky situation where they had to find a way out the smart way. Because, despite what he tried to convince himself, Jaime was quite small, and unable to fight for himself physically like maybe Dick or Blue could. So, he had to talk his way out of situations like that. His brain was both his greatest strength and liability.

Luckily, Jaime didn't get into _that_ many fights on the streets since he was smart enough to avoid them in the first place.

Though, apparently, a certain somebody was _very_ interested in picking one with him right then and there.

Jaime turned his complete and undivided attention to the younger boy sitting on the heating pipes next to him, raising a fine eyebrow over in his direction. Bart, in turned, grinned over at Jaime in a manner similar to that of the Chesire cat, winking cheekily.

"Yeah! I bet you that your job is more boring than mine!" he exclaimed once again, eyes filling with a happy sort of light and shining in the heat of the cold, winter day. He wriggled his eyebrows in the most butchered way Jaime had ever seen somebody wriggle their eyebrows,and winked at him once again.

" _You what_?" Jaime questioned, clearly amused by the entire thing. Sometimes, he and Bart got into arguments over the _stupidest_ things. Like that one time when they had argued over whether or not snow actually had a taste.

... _Yeah_.

But, of course, that wasn't the point. Bart scooted over just a tiny bit closer so that their shoulders bumped into one another, and Jaime felt the tips of his ears as well as his cheeks begin to heat up.

He just hoped it didn't physically show…

Bart grabbed Jaime hands in his and practically dumped all of it's contents into his own tiny, little palms. Which, was fine. After all, these things were just leftovers from his hard day of scavenging, and Jaime hadn't really been planning on doing anything with them other than throwing them out. They were no use to him if nobody wanted them or they had no value to begin with. They would have probably already been in the trash bin if it wasn't for the fact that Jaime had wanted to come and visit Bart before the day ended and he was met with the dusk and shadows that came with the night.

Bart continued to observe what useless trinkets and gadgets Jaime had brought back with a keen eye before huffing, and hurling them across the room. Despite the fact that they meant literally nothing to Jaime, he began to have a mini panic attack because he was the kind of person to freak out over anything and everything even if it didn't concern him.

"Hey!" he exclaimed, "Those were-!" But he never even had the chance to finish his "would-be" sentence because Bart suddenly (and _rudely_ ) interrupted him.

"Look at this junk!" he declared dramatically, suddenly up on his feet, with one hand on his hip and the other holding Jaime's now self-proclaimed "junk", "Is this _all_ you _do_!? Just collect this stuff _all day_? Talk about _boring_!"

Bart had this thing where he tended to not realize he was being rude when he was being super rude. And, he was doing it again. Jaime sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in aggravation. He got the feeling that Bart wasn't going to just let this go. Whatever "this" even was…

But, the boy wasn't finished, as he continued on moments later, apparently not noticing Jaime's annoyed stance and exasperated features.

"I mean, it would be _justified_ in some way if at least the stuff was _interesting_. But, _literally_ there is absolutely _zero_ rationalization as to why you would-"

This time, it was Jaime's turn to interrupt.

"Okay, well, if _my_ job's _so_ boring, what is it that _you_ do, Bart?" he huffed out, crossing his arms sassily (yes, sassily) over his chest.

If Bart was going to play this game, then Jaime was going to play back with all that he had. After all, two could play at it, right?

Although, Jaime couldn't help but find it funny that they kept referring to what they did as a "job". As though they had actually gone to some prestigious school and worked for what they were doing. Like they were specialized in the arts if what they did.

 _For the love of crap,_ Jaime sold shit on a street corner with crackheads!

His "job" sure was professional, huh?

But, returning back to the topic at hand, Jaime tuned in to his surroundings to find Bart grinning at him once more. The boy flipped some loose strands of hair that always seemed to find their way into his eyes to the side of his face, before his sparkling eyes met Jaime's. He wagged his finger back and forth as though he were a child ( _he was,_ Jaime had to remind himself, so was he himself) and shook his head rapidly, hair becoming even more messy and crazed then it had been to begin with.

"Nope!" he all but giggled out, "Not yet! I have a bet to propose to you, dear Jaime!"

This instantly captivated Jaime's attention, and he turned all ears towards the younger boy who simply winked for a third time over at him, whilst Jaime raised his eyebrow for the second.

The hell was he talking about, a "bet"?

"The hell are you talking about, a bet?" Jaime voiced his thoughts, confusion clearly lacing his voice. But, instead of answering his question like any _normal_ person would ( _was_ Bart even normal? No, Jaime decided, he wasn't), the boy simply grinned once more, and let out another giggle, shoving his tiny little fist into his mouth to try and muffle his laughter.

It didn't work.

"Well!" Bart exclaimed, "This type of bet is different from all of our other bets! Because, if one of us loses, we actually have to _do_ something for the other!" Bart blinked, his face crinkling with confusion, "Though, I suppose that is the _exact_ definition of a bet. So, _technically_ , none of the "bets" we had before were actual _bets_ and-"

"Bart. You're getting distracted. _Again_."

"I know. I do that a lot."

The boy took a break from his rant to take a deep breath in, his eyes fluttering shut momentarily, before turning back to Jaime with that huge grin of his that never seemed to fade plastered upon his face.

"Anyways! Here's how this will work! We'll both accompany one another to each other's jobs, and basically live each other's lives for a day! Then, at the end of it all, we'll say who's job was more interesting! If mine is, you owe me five bucks!"

Jaime moaned.

"And, if you win- _which_ is _very_ unlikely scenario-then... _um_ …"

Bart trailed off, the words lost on his tongue. Jaime raised an eyebrow, an amused smile gracing his features. He was pretty sure he would _never_ get tired of Bart's antics.

"If I win, then you come back to the train station with me."

The words fell from his tongue before Jaime could even acknowledge what he was saying. Bart turned to meet Jaime's gaze, his wide eyes meeting Jaime's own. Honestly, Jaime was just as shocked as Bart was.

Why in the nine circles of _hell_ would he say something like _that_?

He instantly backtracked. "I-I mean...it's only if _you_ want to, and...I... _um-_ "

Jaime praised himself for being an idiot. The biggest of them all. Of course he would say something dumb like that. Bart probably thought he was one of those creeps preying on young boys on the streets- _which_ he wasn't.

It was one thing coming over here to hang out with Bart, but another completely to ask him to return back with him to his own base. He and Bart were close, yes, but not _that_ close. Besides, Jaime would really be pushing his luck trying to get Bart to depart even further from his safety zone for a second time. He had managed to convince him to do so once. He got the feeling he wouldn't be so lucky as to get him to leave again.

Jaime understood that Bart had limits. Everybody did. _He_ did.

He also understood that those limits were not to be tested or pushed. If somebody was uncomfortable doing something, you waited for them to be ready. It was as simple as that.

It was what Jaime had done with Bart. It was what he would continue to do.

So, the fact that Jaime had asked the boy to come back with him to the train station was just unfathomable, because the obvious answer was "no". Jaime already knew that Bart didn't like going to places he didn't know. He felt comfortable and safe right where he was.

Jaime felt like an ass for even suggesting he come back with him in the first place.

But, to Jaime's utter surprise, Bart simply smiled, cutting off what little and insignificant protests Jaime had been trying to communicate to the brunette.

"Yeah. Okay. Sure, why not? That sounds like an okay idea. Though, you're _never_ going to win, because my amazingness is _so_ amazing, so-"

The rest of what Bart was going to say was completely lost on him, as Jaime found himself in a state of shock for the second time that day. The boy kept blabbering on about how Jaime was going to lose big time or something like that, but it went in one ear and out the other.

He had _agreed_.

 _Huh_.

_Go figure._

Though, Jaime wasn't sure why he was so surprised. After all, Bart found new and different ways to shock him every single day. It was like he kept a stash of "Different Ways To Bewilder Jaime" in his back pocket, or something.

All he really knew was that with Bart Allen, you could _never_ be too sure…

* * *

"You had friends, correct?"

"Yes."

"And, what were they like?"

"I don't know. Okay, I guess?"

"Well, it doesn't sound like you liked them very much."

"Look lady; why don't _you_ try living on the streets for a day and making " _friends_ ". _See how far that gets you."_

* * *

"Well, well, _well_! _Look_ who just walked in through the front door!"

Jaime rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue in annoyance as he attempted to ignore what La'gaan had sarcastically proclaimed as he had walked into the train station through the swinging doors.

It wasn't a particularly nice place. But it wasn't too bad either.

The white walls packed in with cracked tiles and contaminated with greasy filth that had come from God knows where. They were coated with layers upon layers of graffiti that was mostly faded away, but still marked the previous actions of people who had been there long before them. The floors beneath them were wet and of bad quality. So was the round ceiling above them, which looked like it could cave in on them at any moment.

The scenery wasn't all that pretty.

It was more the noises that caught Jaime's attention.

Late at night, when the street lights shone brightly and the passerby's that gave them such dirty looks were sleeping in their warm beds-something Jaime would never have-he became aware of just how beautiful the train station could become at night.

The roaring sounds of trains rushing down tracks, the hushed sounds of low voices around him, the soft snores of his comrades-except for Gar, he snored _very_ loud-, the monotonous voice of the announcer over the speakers.

All this had become some sort of a soft, lullaby to Jaime.

He had been out here so long, been exposed to all these sounds and all these people for what seemed like forever; it was as though he had simply become used to them. Accepted them. They were no longer bothersome to Jaime, like they had been at first. He actually found that they helped him sleep _better_ than he had been previous to all of... _this_.

But, Jaime didn't like to think about that if he could help it.

It was funny, as the same concept kind of applied to those sitting around him right now. He had just accepted them. Became used to them. They were no longer bothersome to him.

As much as he hated to admit it, there had been a time where Jaime hadn't exactly been the nicest. He had been naive and stupid and that had caused him a lot of trouble. Had caused him to become quite... _angry_. With everything and everybody.

But mostly? Himself.

Meeting this group of people was life changing. Even more so than meeting Bart. They may not have known it, but they had helped him far more than they could ever possibly imagine. Jaime had not been very happy with life. Not very happy with himself.

But, staying there in one of those many train stations with all of them?

Something _changed_. _Jaime_ changed.

It was why he wanted to be friends with them. _So_ badly. He considered them family. Closer than his actual one! And he truly enjoyed spending time with each and every one of them.

But, out here, having friends was what got you killed. What ruined both yours and their lives.

Out here, if you had something or someone you cared about, as well as enemies, those enemies would find out and target those who meant something to you. Out here, you didn't have _time_ to care for other people, because doing that just dragged you down so that others could walk all over you.

Out here, loving someone was what destroyed that love in the first place. Out here, he knew better than too begin to love in the first place.

Life was both a beautiful and cruel phenomenon that wouldn't hesitate to give you something special only to rip it away from you in the end.

Jaime _wanted_ to be friends with them. He _really_ did.

But he _couldn't_. And, they knew that too.

After all, they played the same game. Followed the same rules.

They understood what having "friends" could do to you out here just as much as Jaime did.

"Hi Jaime!"

" _WOAH_."

Jaime all but fell over as suddenly Gar was right in his face, grinning at him with that unmistakable smile of his. Jaime sighed in relief, glad he wasn't being attacked, before glaring harshly at the small boy in front of him.

"Gar! You scared me half to death!" he exclaimed, crossing his arms over his chest and huffing. Gar giggled, and brushed some of his greasy, light brown hair out of his eyes, which stared giddily into Jaime's own.

"Too bad you didn't scare him all the way…" Wally muttered from a little ways away, taking another drag from his cigarette before letting out a long string of coughs. He passed the stick over to Artemis who chuckled and took another drag, before patting the red-head on the back.

Jaime turned the focus of his glare from one freckled annoyance to the other.

"Whatever." he muttered, running a hand through his own raven black hair. It was only then that he noticed mostly all the groups members had taken a break from doing the stupid shit they usually did and were all staring over in his direction, apparently. Jaime's eyes considerably narrowed.

" _What_?" he hissed out, his defensive mode coming on at an alarming rate. Wally's eyes narrowed as well as he took another long drag, before turning his full and undivided focus over to Jaime.

Wally could be... _scary_. It was almost insane, as one minute he was joking around with the rest of them and the next he was brooding in a corner. Rumor had it he may or may not be bipolar. Or a mad scientist.

Personally, Jaime just believed he, like many others, had shaped his attitude and personality to match that of what was needed to survive out on the streets.

"Where you been, kid?" he rasped out, clearing his throat all the while. Jaime's eyes clouded over with confusion, and he began to experience an overwhelming feeling of nervousness building up in the pit of his stomach.

"W-what do you mean?" Jaime managed out, attempting to shield the shakiness he could hear in his own voice.

He hadn't done a good job.

Wally cleared his throat once more, green eyes looking far too old and broken for that of somebody who was still practically a child. The key word there being "practically". They weren't kids.

Not anymore.

"You get up, leave for the entire day, then come back at an incredible hour of the night like this expecting us to brush it off like it's nothing." Wally said, tapping his hand on the ground in a way that reminded him very much of Bart.

Bart. The boy nobody knew about. The reason he was out so long.

The reason he was being questioned at the moment.

_Dammit._

Jaime began to protest. "But i've always-"

But he was interrupted.

"Yes, you've been out for long periods of time before, but not for as long as you have been most recently." Wally stated.

Jaime felt as though his heart were beating out of his chest. Because, this was scary. Yes, he had kept secrets from them before, but not one as big as this. As big as Bart.

And, if he knew _anything_ about this particular group of people-more specifically, _Dick-_ it was that they didn't like secrets. _At all_. So, when people kept secrets from each other, Dick got upset. Jaime had only seen it happen once. It had been fairly odd, because Dick hadn't lashed out at Cassie (who had been keeping a stash of drugs a secret from them), and he hadn't yelled at her either.

He had simply walked away. Walked away and out on them.

_For two months._

The scariest part had been when he had suddenly returned one cloudy, Monday morning and acted as though nothing had happened at all. They had all gone along with it, and eventually the entire thing was "forgotten". But, not really though. It still lingered in all their minds and reminded them of what happened when you kept secrets from Dick. From your people.

This was a pretty big secret. And, Jaime was terrified. Scared shitless.

Because, how could he possibly tell them? How could he explain the likes of Bart Allen to a bunch of homeless kids living in a train station?

He couldn't.

Which was why he was so glad Dick wasn't there at that moment. Because, he couldn't possibly lie to him. Not before breaking down in tears, anyway.

" _Look_." he all but growled out, pushing down his fears and worries to put on a tough guy attitude to match the likes of Wally, "Where I go and what I do is none of your damn business."

Everyone looked completely shocked that Jaime had even attempted to stand up to Wally, including the Wally himself. Usually, Jaime was extremely quiet and shy, though easily annoyed by others. He also knew how to defend himself. He wasn't a pushover, anyway.

But, he didn't go around picking fights with people if he could help it. And, _certainly_ not on purpose. Jaime was a kindred soul. He _didn't like_ fighting.

But, for Bart, he figured it was worth it.

Taking in a deep breath, Jaime continued. "You shouldn't worry about matters that don't concern you, Wally. If i'm being perfectly honest, I can take care of myself just fine. _You_ , on the other hand, may want to take a second to reevaluate your choices in life…"

And with that, he turned around and walked away without another word or glance back at the shocked faces behind him. His heart was literally beating at a million miles per hour at that point, and Jaime could feel the cold sweat that covered his entire body stick his clothes to his body from all the perspiration.

That had been one of the hardest things he had had to do in his life. Ever.

And it had _sucked ass_.

But, he had _done it_. And, frankly, he was proud of himself. He had done _something_ for himself. Stood up for not just his own personal benefit, but Bart's as well.

Because, none of them knew about Bart. None of them understood how important seeing him was to Jaime. And, none of them could even begin to comprehend his feelings for the boy. Honestly, neither could Jaime, but at least he had more of a chance of understanding than them.

He just had this really bad feeling in his gut that if the group found out about Jaime's visits to Bart, they would forbid him from going and force him to stop by threatening to kick him out. Associating yourself with personnel that you are not familiar with was one of the biggest " _no-no's_ " out there.

One that Jaime was currently taking part in.

And, he had not a doubt that if the others were to find out about what he was doing behind their backs, they would not only put a halt to his "activities", but surely either punish him or kick him out from the train station entirely.

None of those of which he wanted.

So, it was as that moment, as he slid down to his usual "spot" and lay sprawled out across the cracked floor tiles that he began to think about everything that was going on. Everything that had happened; had _changed_ since he met Bart Allen that one, snowy night he had gotten lost. He began to think about how much of an inconvenience Bart could be. How much trouble he was really worth. How much effort he had to put into going to see him each and every day, sometimes trekking through God knows how much piled up snow just to get there to hang out with Bart for sometimes only an hour.

He began to wonder if it was all really worth it. Everything he was doing. Worth risking getting caught and shunned by his comrades. Worth risking the terrible "stick" punishment by Dick. Worth walking through layers upon layers of freezing snow each and every day, risking his health in the process.

Worth it all for one bright-eyed, auburn-haired, freckled little kid with the prettiest smile he had seen in ages.

Jaime decided it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment down below!!! I love reading and responding to them!!!! More to come soon!!! 
> 
> *gives thumbs up*


	6. Here Comes The Sun (doo doo doo doo)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bart and Jaime go and do what they do best. Or, what Jaime does best, at least. Bart doesn't really understand what Jaime does. And, Gods, is it hard to teach him...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slight delay! I'm back with this story now. I was kind of stuck for a little while, but, here it is??? Next chapter should be coming soon. And, holy smokes, it's gonna be a ride.
> 
> Stay tuned! Enjoy! And, please, PLEASE comment! I love them so much!
> 
> Thanks for the kudos, ya'll! I love you guys. :)

_Little darling, it's been a long cold lonely winter_

_Little darling, it feels like years since it's been here_

"I want to hear more about this group of yours that you lived with."

"There isn't really much to tell."

"Listen, Jaime. You're the one who decided to do this. If you don't tell us anything, then what would be the point of this interview?"

"..."

"You see what I mean, then?"

"... _Okay_. I'll tell you what you want to hear."

* * *

The train moved along slowly, like it did everyday.

Jaime sat exasperatedly, completely unnerved and more hyperactive than he should have been. After all, it was just a train. In fact, this particular train passed by their station _every_ day. There was nothing new here. Nothing for him to be freaking out about.

Well, except for the fact that Bart was there…

The brunette sat to Jaime's left, bouncing his foot up and down on the side of the train. He looked just as exasperated as Jaime was. He couldn't go a minute without squirming in his seat, kicking his foot once or twice every couple bounces.

Bart was there. He was _there_.

Actually, he had been there since earlier on that morning. The two had proceeded with the bet, and Jaime had lead Bart along to his usual spot for picking up discarded or broken tools that Jaime found he could easily sell if he simply patched them up a little.

Bart had quickly grown bored, much to Jaime's dismay. He was supposed to be proving to him that what he did was _interesting_ or _fun_. Sadly, though, Bart didn't take it the way he had hoped.

"This is boring!" he had exclaimed after only five minutes of searching through the rubble. They had been in a junkyard, which smelled of _death_ and _decay_. God knows how many bodies may or may not have been dumped there. But, it was also a literal goldmine of useful little trinkets that Jaime could potentially make money off of. Maybe even pay off some of his debts. Maybe buy food or water or a blanket. _Something_ useful.

He had thought that way a lot back when he was younger. Back when he had hopes of having a better life. Not that he had completely given up on life (though, he was slowly but surely getting to that point), but he had hoped that perhaps he could find a life off the streets. Maybe get a dog or a cat. He'd have the fanciest car on the block!

He had been naive.

As soon as he had actually been out there for an extended amount of time, Jaime had come to realize that none of that would ever be happening. That even if he did make it out of this downward spiral of his, he'd have absolutely nothing returning back to the "real world". The "regular world". Whatever you wanted to call it.

Jaime had little to no schooling. Absolutely no life talents or goals to be reached. Out on the streets, you didn't _have_ to have life goals or dreams for the future. You only needed to have the will to survive until the next day. And the day after that. And the day after that.

And so on.

And, usually it was glue that did that for you.

Jaime didn't like talking about glue, or paint, or any kind of drug for that matter. He didn't like taking them either. But, it was kind of a necessity out on the streets. You couldn't always find food, and between starving and taking drugs, he was pretty sure anybody would take the latter.

Right?

He hoped so, anyways.

Blue had once told him that Jaime wasn't _really_ addicted. Jaime had gotten angry at that statement, as he was pretty sure he and most of all the other kids who did it were most definitely addicted. Blue had said that you were only addicted if you would die for the stuff.

"Would you?" Jaime had asked.

Blue had given him a maniacal grin, and had thrown his head back and laughed. Jaime remembered visibly flinching as Blue had responded.

"You remember that one time I had a stroke? What _you_ think, kid?"

 _Yeah_.

Jaime wouldn't ever die for it. He hoped he wouldn't, anyways. He also hoped that nobody else would either. But, it was a very real threat. He knew lots of people who had died after too many doses of drugs, whether it be seizures, heart attacks, or anything else of the like.

But, breathing in through that bag, and feeling your heart hammering heavily in your chest? Experiencing that feeling where all your hunger and worries simply disappeared?

Well, in the moment, you didn't really think about the consequences. In fact, you didn't really think about _anything_.

Or, maybe you thought about everything?

Jaime honestly didn't know.

But, he did know that, without it, he and _many_ others might not have made it as far as they had today. It was a dangerous game that _nobody_ wanted to forfeit.

A dangerous game that _everyone_ wanted to win.

Anyways, Bart had eventually ran off like he _always_ did, proclaiming that he was bored. That _Jaime_ was boring. Jaime had simply rolled his eyes and continued rooting through the garbage while Bart did whatever the hell it was he did when he was bored. Jaime didn't know what that was, and got the feeling he didn't _want_ to know…

After a few hours of doing this, he was finally satisfied with what he had. But, when he turned around to announce that they were leaving, Bart was nowhere in sight. That had been an aggravating realization as, knowing the fiery redhead, he could have already been halfway across the country.

Groaning, Jaime had forced himself up to go and find the stupid kid.

He had wasted _two hours_ trying to find him, actually. You'd think Jaime would just give up and continue on with his day like any logical person would. But, Jaime was _not_ a logical person, and he also had a bet to win.

He _hated_ losing.

He managed to track Bart down to the city. He was playing some sort of game with some younger kids. Their older siblings looked glad to have a break from looking after the little ones. He had stomped over, grabbed Bart by the arm, and practically dragged the laughing boy away.

He had grinned over at Jaime with the most _arrogant_ smile, and had cheekily proclaimed;

"Hey Jaime! What's up?"

Jaime had to refrain himself from killing him right then and there on the spot.

Which lead to the present moment. Bart kicking at his seat boredly and Jaime scanning the train for any "victims" to go after and pester into buying something from him. Bart sighed, and leaned his head on Jaime's shoulder. Jaime felt his heart skip a beat, before he shoved Bart away.

"What was _that_ for?" he questioned amusedly. Bart stared up at him, a pout forming on his face. He kind of looked liked a kicked puppy. Actually, he kind of _always_ looked like that, didn't he?

"I'm so boooooored!" he exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. He caught the attention of some others near them. Most of them had moved away uncomfortably.

Like they were going to _attack_ them or something.

 _Honestly_.

Like they were a danger to society. Like they were a danger to everything and everybody around them. They were _children_ , not _monsters_. Jaime hated people who assumed you were a criminal just because you wore ragged clothes and had to use drugs for a living. They didn't know _your_ story, _your_ rights, where _you_ came from. They had absolutely _no right_ to judge.

At all.

Of course, how people viewed him wasn't for Jaime to decide. He was no God. He couldn't dictate how things would happen, when they would happen, or why they would happen. They just would. As most things in his life were, it was out of his hands.

And, it was better to just not think about what would happen tomorrow sometimes.

Who needed the unwanted stress?

Jaime instead decided to focus on something or someone that still thoroughly stressed him out, but also made him happy. Bart.

Jaime himself grinned. "Well, that's what you get for running off earlier!" he teased, wagging his finger in Bart's face. The boy groaned, and Jaime laughed once more.

"You're _still_ not over that? You big baby!"

Jaime stuck his tongue out at Bart. The boy returned the gesture.

Those around them seemed to become even _more_ uncomfortable, if that was even _possible_. Jaime rolled his eyes at them again, though Bart apparently took it as a gesture meant for him, and crudely copied the action.

Jaime scoffed. Bart scoffed.

There.

Jaime spotted a lady with two children who were well dressed and looked to be heading off to school or something. She had looked over at them and had averted her gaze, much like many others. But, unlike the others, she hadn't looked away in disgust.

Jaime wasn't sure whether her gaze held pity or uncertainty, but it was a start. A chance. He could start off with her and bounce from one person to another.

 _Perfect_.

Bart crinkled his nose. "Why are you staring at that lady like that?" he questioned a little bit _too_ loudly. Jaime was afraid that the lady might have heard, though she seemed to be completely unaware of Bart's blunt comment.

Thank _God_.

"You said you were bored?" Jaime inquired. Bart's head shot up, and his eyes brightened spectacularly.

"Hell yes!"

Jaime grinned.

"Well..." he spoke up, eying the lady like a lion might eye their prey in the midst of the hunt, of the fight;

" _Shall we get started then?"_

* * *

"How long were you on the street?"

"I'm still there."

" _Really_?"

"Oh yeah."

"Well, how long have you been there, then?"

"You remember that one summer where it just kept raining?"

"Yes."

"Well, remember the one before that one?"

"Yes?"

"Well, the one before that one, and the one before that one, and the one before that one, and then the one before that one. And, maybe a couple more before that one too."

"..."

" _That's_ how long i've been on."

* * *

Bart didn't really get the concept of selling a product.

It was quite easy if you understood what you were doing. You walked up to someone ("victims", as Jaime liked to call them), asked them politely if they wanted to buy something, and further persisted if they denied.

Once again, you did all of this _politely_.

Sometimes, they would cave in and give you what you wanted. Other times, it was the complete opposite.

For example, that first lady he saw? She had given in quite quickly. At first, she had denied Jaime, saying the usual excuses: "I have no money", "I have somewhere to go", etcetera. But, after persisting further, she had complied and given him a few bills or so for a necklace he had found and cleaned up.

Jaime had continued on down the train after that, going from person to person and offering them what flimsy little gadgets he had on him. He prided himself in being quite calm and stoic, even when some yelled or spat at him. Called him a retarded faggot.

He was used to this type of treatment, as sad as that was.

Bart, apparently, was not, though.

"Here's what you got to do." Jaime had explained, "You go over there, ask for money. And, if you don't get money, you ask again. Clear?"

Bart had blinked. "Well, that's quite straightforward now, isn't it?"

At the time, it had seemed like it. Sadly, Bart had the amazing talent of making everything super complicated for everyone.

When he had walked up to a man and had kindly asked him to spare a few coins for perhaps a trinket or two, the man had promptly told him to " _fuck off, you little bitch_ ". Bart stuck to the plan, and asked again, and the man shoved him away. Bart almost toppled over, but managed to regain his balance by gripping tightly onto one of the poles to the side of the booth.

He made eye contact with Jaime, who motioned for him to come back. That there was no use in trying any further.

Bart's eyes narrowed as he turned back to the man, and spat in his face.

To say everything after that was chaotic after that was an understatement. The man cried out, and angrily grabbed for Bart who was already quickly making his way down the rest of the aisle, out of his reach. Jaime quickly followed after him, face red and attempting to block out the colorful choice of language that the man chose to let loose after the entire encounter.

"What were you thinking!?" Jaime lashed out when they were away and safe from the wrath of the pudgy man. His nostrils flared as he glared squarely in the boy's direction. Honestly, though, it was quite hard to be mad at Bart. There was just something about him.

"I was _thinking_ that the guy was being a jackass, and had to have a major reality check!" Bart exclaimed, a grin forming on his face. "But, was that _awesome_ , or _what_!?"

And that was only the beginning.

In the next hour, Bart managed to successfully give the finger to twelve passengers, let out his own choice of colorful words to six others, kick some man with a goatee in the shin, bite a lady with a dog in the arm, kiss some random lady on the cheek before running away at top speed from her angry husband, stomp his foot on a teenager's unsuspecting big toe, scream at the top of his lungs at least seven times, and spit in about twenty more people's faces.

 _Yeah_. He _really_ didn't get the concept of selling a product.

Of course, he treated every scream of fear and every look of disgust as a golden star. He even burped in a child's face, and made her cry. He always grinned over at Jaime, who could only watch helplessly from the side as he continued on with his mad rampage.

At first, he had shielded his eyes and looked away. But, after awhile, he began joining in. Not with anything as unreal as Bart was doing, but if somebody asked, he may or may not have been burping in a few assholes faces after they had been exceptionally rude to either he or Bart.

"It's completely fine," Bart had simply explained, "as I have been chosen by fate to deliver karma to those who deserve an ass kicking. Oh! And, you're my assistant! Not even! You're my accomplice!"

Jaime was completely fine with being the accomplice.

The rest of their day was spent doing mostly that. Though Jaime barely made any money, he acquired a brand new set of happy memories with a friend.

And _that_ was priceless.

* * *

"So, Dick was like...the leader?"

"That's what we considered him to be, yes."

"But, weren't you afraid? I mean, he beat you."

"Only when he had to."

"Were you ever beaten?"

"Of course."

"Were you afraid?"

"Being beaten is common occurrence on the streets. I was never really scared of it. From the start, I knew it was coming. Humans can be quite cruel, you know."

"Oh?"

"All of us are. It's only in our nature. It always has been, and always will be. We live in a world where we have to hide to make love, while violence is practiced in broad daylight…"

* * *

"Well, I have to admit it...that was kind of fun!"

Jaime turned to look at Bart, a fine eyebrow raised in questioning.

"Oh?" he inquired, a small smile making its way onto his face. Bart turned around and grinned at him, eyes shining as brightly as they always did.

"Well, yeah! Burping in people's faces is pretty crash!" he giggled, and hopped over an ice puddle forming on the ground. It was snowing once more, though not as hard as to consider it a storm. Still, most people were hiding in the safety of their houses. Except for them, of course. Come rain or shine, Jaime lived and breathed for the outdoors. For the streets.

Jaime groaned, and did a literal facepalm. Because, Bart _seriously_ didn't get the concept of what Jaime did, did he? To him, it wasn't a job, but a playground of sorts. Jaime had felt like tossing him out the train multiple times on their endeavour earlier on that day.

Bart jumped over another puddle, and almost toppled over.

If he wasn't careful, he might slip on one of said ice puddles...

At least the idiot was wearing shoes now. No matter how run down and teared up they were…

"" _Crash"?_ " Jaime questioned, eyebrows scrunching up in confusion. He'd heard a lot of street lingo, but that one was new.

Bart gave him an odd look, before throwing his head back and laughing. Jaime raised an eyebrow once more. Bart sure knew how to confuse him, that was for sure.

"Don't mind me!" he smiled, "Just some lingo that I learnt a little ways back. It basically means good! Nothing to worry about, anyways." Jaime nodded slowly, processing the information Bart had given him. Confusing, but quite cool. Almost like he had his own language.

"Of course, it's not as cool as mine!" he continued, leaping over another puddle and landing in a barrel roll on the other side. "Nothing could beat mine!"

Jaime clicked his tongue and jammed his hands in his pockets.

"So you say." he mummered. "What exactly _is_ this job that is so amazingly cool and awesome?"

Suddenly, Bart was right in his face. Jaime yelped and almost fell over, but managed to regain his balance just in time. Bart waggled his eyebrows, and shook some of the snowflakes from his hair. Like he was a dog.

' _Might as well be..._ ' Jaime innerly grumbled to himself.

"Ah ah ah, Jaime! No spoilers!" he stomped his foot on the ground, leaving an imprint of his tiny shoes and wreaking the material even more in the process.

Jaime scoffed.

"If you're not willing to tell me, then it must not be as awesome as you make it out to be! Liar!" he accused Bart carelessly.

Honestly, he was just curious. What exactly _did_ Bart do? He already made out what Jaime did to be boring in his eyes, so he couldn't be a collector or ragpicker in that sense. He wasn't exactly strong, so he wouldn't be someone to deliver boxes or anything else, like, say, Conner and Kaldur. And, any other job Jaime could really think of didn't fit the charismatic ball of hyperactive and impulsive energy that was Bart.

So, what the hell? How did Bart make a living? What did he do that was so, as he put it, " _crash_ "?

"Am not!" he whined, attempting to jump over a bigger puddle, but managing to fail terribly and fall on his butt. Jaime let out a long line of snorts, and Bart ran over and attempted to beat him up with those tiny fists of his. Jaime shoved him to the ground once more, where he crossed his arms and began to pout.

"Now I'm all wet!" he muttered, and Jaime stuck his tongue out at him for the second time that day. Bart returned the gesture once more. He then got up and dusted the imaginary dust off of him person. He turned to Jaime and smiled. Except, this smile seemed a little more...well, Jaime didn't know _what_ it seemed like. But, it was different from all his other ones. He adjusted his shirt on his shoulder and met Jaime's gaze.

"Listen. Come to the city late tonight. I'll meet you by that store that sells crappy CD's and old, illegal Blockbuster movies. You know the one?"

Jaime did. He nodded.

Bart grinned. "Awesome!" he exclaimed, and turned around on his heel and bolted in the opposite direction. Jaime watched him run down the road, jumping over puddles with ease, and letting out that amazing laugh of his as he did so.

Going off to do whatever the hell it was that he did in his free time.

Though, when he reached the end of the street, he turned back and grinned at Jaime. He waved frantically over in his direction. Jaime waved back with a significant less amount of enthusiasm.

" _You'll see tonight, Jaime!_ " he yelled, and his voice echoed through the abandoned streets, " _It'll be_ super _crash!"_

And then he was gone, nothing but a voice in the wind and an imprint in the snow as proof that he had even been there in the first place. The streetlamps were already beginning to turn on, meaning Jaime was late again, and would most probably be questioned when he got back. He was also going to have to sneak out late that night to meet up with Bart.

But, that was okay. It was worth it if he was finally going to find out more about the mysterious Bart. About his " _mysterious job_ " that was apparently " _super crash_ ".

He just had to wait a couple more hours.

A couple more hours, and all would be revealed...


	7. In the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime finally finds what he's been tirelessly searching for, and immediately wishes that he hadn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go...

_In the night she hears him calling_

_In the night she's dancing to relieve the pain_

_She'll never walk away_

_(I don't think you understand)_

"Bart was your friend then?"

"Yes."

"And, why did you feel the need to keep him secret from the rest of the group?"

"I don't really know. Maybe it was because I knew exposing him could put him at risk. Maybe because I didn't want to be seen with somebody the likes of him. Maybe I didn't feel like sharing my time with him with anybody else."

"...Well, that seems kind of selfish, don't you think?"

" _Hmm_?"

"I mean, I don't mean to be rude. But, it seems as though you-"

"I'm selfish, impatient, and a little insecure. I make mistakes. I'm out of control, and at times, hard to handle. But, if you can't handle me at my worst, then you sure as _hell_ don't _deserve_ _me_ at my best…"

* * *

Sneaking out proved to be...quite difficult.

This was because literally nobody slept at night in the endless halls of the train station. They were pretty much all night owls. And, sleeping at night could prove to be quite dangerous at times. You were completely unaware of what was going on around you. You could wake up to a baton in the face from the asshole officers who all but enjoyed telling you to crudely get lost. Or, somebody could try to either rob you or do even worse.

Jaime himself had never been a victim to an attack like that, but La'gaan had been. He and Jason had been sleeping on a train. Or, La'gaan had been anyways. And, Jason had watched from the side as this random creep had walked up, removed his pants, and proceeded to have sex with him.

"And," Jason had explained with a grin as La'gaan had been attempting to hide his giggles that were bubbling up, "La'gaan just kept right on snoring!"

Of course, Jaime laughed every time he heard the story. It was, after all, quite hilarious. Especially the way Jason put it. But, it was also an example of just how fast things could happen out on the streets. After it had happened, Jason had ran up and the man had run off. La'gaan had woken up, and Jason had explained the entire thing to him. The two had laughed so hard, that Jason had toppled over.

Or, that was how they told the story, anyways.

Really, Jaime had no way of knowing if the story was really true. But, he believed it full heartedly anyways, and took it as a warning.

In that way, falling asleep just anywhere was quite dangerous. But, the train station seemed to be a better place than any place at all. Cassie said that she once fell asleep beside a busy intersection. Gar and M'gann used to live in a slum, and sometimes water infected with God-knows-what would seep into their little "shack", or whatever they wanted to call it.

Everybody had a story. Including Jaime.

And, he knew most of everybody's stories. Everybody's except, it seemed, both Dick and Blue. The two were far too secretive for their own good.

Though, something must have happened that caused Dick to become intolerant to sleep, as Jaime had literally _never_ seen him shut his eyes.

Like, _ever_.

Which lead to the current situation at hand. Not only were the majority of the younger kids up, but a couple of the older ones were as well.

Including the ever-present, non-sleeping Dick. Dick, who just so happened to have eyes in the back of his head and knew when everything and anything happened.

Jaime sighed and continued to breathe in and out through his bag of glue, the drug filling the emptiness in him with a buzz that he couldn't help but love. At this point, taking glue was just another normal occurrence for him. At first, getting high had been an unbelievable and almost supernatural occurrence. He had savoured every second of it.

Though, unlike others that carried on this feeling through the rest of their addicted lives, the feeling wore off for Jaime. Drugs became more of a means of survival than a source of pleasure.

He took another hit, and his eyes scanned the area around him. A couple of people were nowhere to be seen, Wally and Artemis being two of them. They were probably off sucking each other's faces somewhere, or something.

' _About time._ ' he thought to himself.

Gar and M'gann were most definitely passed out. A bag of glue lay forgotten in Gar's hand. His face scrunched up in sleep every now and then, hinting to the fact that perhaps he was having a nightmare. M'gann held him tightly, arms wrapped around him.

Jaime could hear Roy With The Buzz Cut and Roy With The Attitude Problem (as he and Tim had so thoughtfully nicknamed them) yelling a little ways down the station.

He sighed and his eyes returned once more to Dick. His breath hitched when he realized that Dick was glaring squarely at him. He glared back, and then averted his gaze, not willing to start anything with Dick of all people.

"Your brother's scary." he had told Tim once as they were carrying boxes to Greg, one of the alright people who had a store at the train station and allowed them to carry boxes for him in return for food and water.

Tim had smiled over at him. "Which one?"

Tim had...quite the family. Damian the brat, Jason the rebel, and Dick, the absolutely terrifying presence in all their lives. Sometimes, it seemed as though Tim were the only _normal_ one from said family.

Jaime knew it was getting quite late at this point. He bit his lip and drummed his fingers on the floor. Somebody threw a coin into his hat, and he mumbled out a thank you. M'gann and Gar were sure getting a lot of attention. It was probably the sad look they held about one another, with Gar's constant whimpering and M'gann tightly hugging him to her.

He had to leave.

He wanted-no, _needed_ -to find out just what Bart did. He didn't know when it had gone from want to need, but Jaime was on his toes with Bart's constant prodding and hinting at the subject. His curiosity was _so_ going to get the better of him one day.

It probably already had…

So, Jaime slowly but surely stood up. There was absolutely no way he was sneaking out at this point. His only other option was really just to walk right out of there and hope that nobody really noticed.

Seemed impossible, right? It probably was.

But, really, what other choice did he have?

Not go? Hell no. He wasn't giving this up. He was going, no matter what. He had decided that quite a long time ago. And by a long time ago, he meant about two hours ago.

And, if anyone tried to stop him, he'd sucker-punch them.

Okay. That was the _drugs_ talking.

_Still_. He was most _definitely_ going.

Jaime made his way to one of the many trains that had made a stop. No, he didn't have a ticket. In fact, whenever they took the trains, they didn't have tickets. Nobody ever bothered to stop them, anyways. Maybe they were scared.

They were probably scared.

Jaime was actually quite surprised this was working. He was simply walking away, and nobody was even noticing. Quite sad, but also kind of cool. He was so close. All he had to do was step inside the train, and then he would be off. He knew where the old CD store was. He would find out which route he had to take when he got on.

He was two steps away from the door.

And then, a hand reached out and grabbed his shoulder harshly. Jaime jerked around, and his eyes widened as they came into direct contact with cold, blue ones.

Dick.

_Shit._

He knew this wouldn't work! He should have never tried it!

On the inside, he began to panic. Luckily, after years on the streets, he had learned to successfully contain his emotions. So, he glared back at Dick, mimicking his harsh look, despite the fear threatening to bubble out from his chest.

Dick looked at Jaime, then at the train. Back at Jaime. Back at the train. He then turned his head and looked back at the others. It seemed they hadn't noticed anything. Jaime was still trying to decided whether that was good or bad.

Dick turned back to look at him. He had that same look in his eyes, but there was something else this time as well. Something Jaime couldn't exactly read.

He had never been very good at communicating with people.

Dick said one word. One word that completely shocked Jaime. Apparently, he and Bart shared the ability to blow Jaime away multiple times per day.

" _Go_."

Jaime blinked in shock, trying to comprehend the word. It was like mush in his mind. Or, maybe it was the drugs in his system doing that. After a while of playing around with it, the full meaning of the words hit him, and Jaime stared at Dick in complete confusion.

But, Dick was already walking back towards the others, not even sparing Jaime a second glance.

Jaime stayed there for about another minute, simply staring at Dick's retreating back, his thoughts swirling around in his mind at full force. Then, he heard the noise from the train that meant that the train's doors were closing, and you'd better get on or else it was leaving the fuck without you.

It was only then that he snapped back into consciousness and ran onto the train just as the doors shut and it began on it's way to wherever the hell it was going.

Jaime was in such a state of shock, he almost forgot why he was on the train in the first place. It came back to him after a while, and he slowly began to piece things together and think out the route he was going to take in order to get to where he had to go.

But, a part of his mind stayed fixed on Dick and only Dick. Dick and those cold, blue eyes of his and his retreating back and " _Go._ ".

Apart of him wondered just what he meant by that. Just what he knew.

Jaime decided that Dick wasn't exactly what he thought he was.

Maybe there was _more_ to him than everyone thought there was…

* * *

"You have administered drugs into your system, then?"

"Yes. I have."

"Did you ever feel that perhaps what you were doing was wrong? That it could potentially be ruining your life?"

"Well, with the unimaginable hunger pangs and threat of starvation hanging over my head, it wasn't really a thought in my mind at the time, no."

* * *

Bart was awful at keeping his word.

When Jaime arrived at the crappy store with fluorescent lights that were all too bright and God-awful music playing from the crackling speakers just outside the door, there was no sign of Bart anywhere.

A few flies and some old, sweaty dudes smoking crack, yes.

But, no Bart.

This pissed Jaime off. Because, it was a big city. And, knowing Bart, he could be practically anywhere. He said they would meet up at this spot _exactly_ , and Bart wasn't _fucking there._

Jaime reminded himself to kick Bart in the shin as soon as he found the cause of his current migraine that was about the size of Asia.

He sighed, and could feel some of his hunger flooding back into him as the effects of the glue began to wear off. He groaned as he realized not only was he stuck with one of the worst headaches ever, but his hunger as well.

When he found Bart, he was literally going to _kill_ the boy…

Bart was _not_ one to be contained, that was for sure. It was one of the things that had drawn him to the kid in the first place. He seemed to have no consideration or ears for anybody other than those he specifically chose. The people who gave them looks or called them names he lashed right back at, not even caring if it could get him in trouble. He had absolutely _no_ concept of personal space or manners, and didn't seem to let anything or anybody negative bother him in the slightest.

It was admirable.

Mostly because Jaime was the complete opposite. He shied away or gave into those who would lash out at him. He ran away from almost every and any situation he could. He took it personally when somebody gave him a look of pity or disgust. _Way_ too personally.

So, the fact that Bart could brush all of that off? Just like that?

It was alluring. Something that he had never seen in a person before.

Different people on the streets had different ways of coping. Some drank and smoked until they were no longer aware that they were even alone and desperate anymore. Others picked on those smaller than them or went after others who had less to make up for their own lack of self confidence and loneliness.

Some, like Jaime, just tried to survive. They spent every day of their life looking for new or different methods to get by. They didn't think about the future. There was no reason to.

There were a few different categories. People who hoped and dreamed for better days. People who gave up and just allowed themselves to be dragged around like rag dolls. People who managed to squeeze their way into some children's home, and lived the rest of their lives telling their stories on the news in hopes that others would help, but nobody really did anything. They just wrote their stories and were done with it. It was a money scam. Everything in life was.

The thing being, Bart fit into none of those categories. Or, at least Jaime didn't _think_ he did. He was smiley and a pain in the ass, but something completely new that Jaime had never experienced before.

He would say " _like a drug_ ", but that would just be kind of redundant, wouldn't it?

Speaking of drugs, Jaime realized that those people sitting by the side of the road smoking crack might be able to help him. If they had been there long enough (and they looked like they had), then they may or may not have seen Bart pass by!

After all, the boy with the messy hair and freckled cheeks with kaleidoscopic green eyes was hard to miss.

He decided it was worth a shot.

Jaime walked over to the men whose eyes instantly turned to look over the considerably smaller boy. Jaime cleared his throat and managed to get their full, undivided attention.

"Excuse me." he began, "But I was wondering if you saw a boy pass by here, maybe? A boy with brownish hair and freckles. And green eyes." he added, and watched as the men seemed to think about it for a little while.

He really hoped they weren't the type to laugh and spit in your face, then go back to whatever the hell they were doing. But, the more he thought about it, the more he realized they probably were. Why the hell would a bunch of bearded guys in their forties doing drugs next to an old CD store care about what Jaime had to say?

' _This was stupid. I should have never asked. I should just leave and-'_

"The kid?" one of the men began, and Jaime was thrown harshly from his thoughts, "I think he said he was headed to _the Red Wing_. Don't really know, though. Said he was _late_ , or somethin'. Took off runnin'. Never seen anybody run that fast in my life. Said somebody might come looking for him. Some boy with ' _a dumb haircut and cool shoes'_."

Jaime looked down at his shoes and then up at his hair. He rolled his eyes.

' _Of course.'_

Jaime narrowed his eyes in confusion. "The " _Red Wing"?_ " he questioned, his eyebrows creasing. Wasn't that some alcoholic beverage, or something?

The man with tomato stains on his vest and big boots to go along with it grinned slyly over at Jaime.

"You obviously ain't from 'ere, kid. Head down this 'ere street, _yeah_? You'll see what _the Red Wing_ be soon enough…" he trailed off, and then turned back to take another hit. Jaime blinked, but turned away from them at that point.

In all honesty, he was kind of unnerved. All these new and foreign words were putting him on edge.

Whatever the hell it was, " _Red Wing_ " didn't seem like it was a very good thing at all…

* * *

"Were you ever robbed?"

" _Yup_."

"By who?"

"Didn't really catch her name. She was too busy punching me silly for me to ask."

"You were beaten up? By a _girl_?"

"Sometimes, I am just _so_ blown away by your _ignorance…_ "

* * *

Red Wing was a series of bars and strip clubs all stacked together in a row.

It was gross and disgusting and all shoved together in one small, smelly, and despicable area. There were literally women and men standing around in glass cases advertising themselves to the general public. It was so small and squished, that Jaime found himself becoming claustrophobic. There was loud and crappy music playing in almost every direction, along with screams and laughter bubbling up in Jaime's ears. The smell of smoke and drugs was just too much for him to handle, and he was beginning to feel dizzy.

And _not_ because of the hunger pangs.

Why the hell would Bart be in a place like _this_? Why the hell would his _job_ be in a place like this? Fear and shock began bubbling up in his chest as a sick feeling was slowly but surely rising in him. He had a sinking feeling that there was something seriously wrong.

The aroma of this place was getting to him, maybe. Or, at least, he hoped that was the case, and there was nothing else going on between the lines.

Whenever he asked if anybody had seen a kid with green eyes, brown hair, and freckles, nobody really seemed to know who he was talking about. They shrugged their shoulders and said they honestly didn't know. Others flat-out ignored him.

One creep approached and asked him how much for " _sucking and shit_ ". Mortified, Jaime had used that kick in the shin reserved for Bart on him and had run off in any direction he could, bumping into sweaty, insufferable people as he did so.

Now, he was completely lost. He seemed to be in a less popular are of the Red Wing. Though, there were still far too many people around for his liking. Not that he was socially awkward or anything, but he didn't like big crowds. It was easy to get lost in them. Easy to lose somebody. For some people, that was a good thing. For Jaime, it usually was not.

Especially if he couldn't find Bart here.

He was about ready to give up asking for Bart and head back to the train station in defeat when somebody finally answered the question he had been asking for the past hour or so.

" _Oh_!" some lady with a golden tooth and too much makeup caked onto her face finally exclaimed, "You must be talking about _Freckles_! He's down over at _Apocalypse_ , _babe_."

Jaime opened his mouth to protest that Bart's name wasn't "Freckles", but _Bart_ , and that she probably had the wrong person, but decided against it. She pointed him in the direction of "Apocalypse", and Jaime thanked her and was sent on his way.

Honestly, he wasn't expecting to find Bart when he entered that crude place filled with jeers and too many beer cans to count.

But, what he found was much, _much_ worse than he ever could have expected it to be.

* * *

"I'm not ignorant."

"Don't blame yourself. Everyone is. _Everyone,_ including _me…_ "

* * *

He was dancing.

Dancing under fluorescent lights and the smell of sweat and beer. The music seemed to be completely muted when watching him. Like he sucked it all up and it became simple static in the back of their minds.

He was _dancing_. Dancing without a care in the world. Round and round he went, and his feet jingled with the little bells that were on them and he went round and round and round like a spell being cast upon them.

There was glitter and sweat and little spittle gathered at the corner of his mouth, and his eyes were closed and eyebrows drawn together, focused solely on turning that foot here and shaking this hip there.

Round and round and round he went. Round and round and round.

Like a trance. Like a ghost. Like a siren. He hummed silently as he did so, and then there was that little jingle every now and then that made him focus once more. Glitter gathered around at the corner of his eyes, and sweat rolling down the sides of his face. Robes hanging around him and filling in every crack and crevice in a perfect swirl with the lights and the timing and the music.

Round and round and round.

He was... _beautiful_. Jaime realized this instantly. Beautiful. The most incredible thing he had ever seen in the world.

There was something else though. Something that shattered that illusion of beauty. Something that made his heart hammer in his chest.

The eyes.

The eyes following him, tracing every movement, every swirl, every turn. Round and round and round they followed him. Hungry eyes. Greedy eyes. Staring, wanting, needing.

_Lustful_ eyes.

There were cheers and jaunts and hoots as he went round and round and round, and every time the jingling little bells sounded, they cheered along with it. They reached out to touch, but not to keep. To want, but not to love.

_Lust. Lust. Lust._

_Round and round and round._

He didn't realize he had started to cry until a tear rolled down his cheek silently. He didn't even bother to wipe it away. Just watched the light-haired, green-eyed, freckled beauty keep on going around like that with all those eyes and hoots directed towards him.

He kept his eyes closed, almost as though he didn't _want_ to look at them. Didn't want to be reminded why he was there. Why they were there. He kept his eyes shut tightly, and suddenly it all just became too much. The smell. The sounds. The jingles. The cheers. The circles and patterns his little, barefoot feet made.

And those damned eyes.

And then, Bart opened his own eyes. He opened them as though he were looking at the world for the first time. Like a child first opening themselves to the world. He stared at Jaime and their eyes locked.

Jaime expected Bart to give him a sad look. A look of disgust for what he had done. A look of pity or shame for having Jaime see all of this. Anything and everything that told him that Bart _wasn't_ okay with this, because Jaime definitely _wasn't_ okay with this.

Instead, the boy grinned. He _fucking grinned_.

And, that was all he could take.

Jaime turned away and ran.

* * *

"How are _you_ ignorant?"

"Like I said, everyone is. Though, I'm not as much as I was before. I used to think I was entitled just because I was a street kid. I thought I was miles ahead of everybody else. Thought I deserved a better life than others just because I didn't have one. I thought I knew everything. And, I came to realize I didn't."

"How?"

"I met somebody. Somebody unlike _anything_ you've seen before."

* * *

His feet caved in from under him.

Jaime fell to his knees on the bathroom floor. Fell and began dry hacking, as their was nothing in his stomach for him to even regurgitate. The last time he had eaten had been...well, he didn't even really know.

It was quite the disgusting scene in quite a disgusting place, and the tears fell from his cheeks and down to the grimy tiles below littered with piss and beer cans. A half naked couple rushed out, giving Jaime a disgusted look he couldn't even begin to bring himself to care about.

The smell of piss, alcohol, and perfume was unbearable. Jaime choked on his sobs as they fell from his throat.

" _Jaime!"_

The voice was all too familiar, and tiny hands wrapped around him and lifted his head until he was staring directly into worried, green eyes. And, he know he shouldn't have, but all he could think about was that grin and those other eyes and that moment when Bart had realized Jaime was there with him.

"Are you okay!? Why are you crying?" he asked, concern lacing his voice. It was amazing how oblivious Bart could be sometimes. How ignorant.

"Am _I_ okay?" Jaime hissed, and his voice raised to that of an angered yell as he repeated the phrase in a state of rage. " _Am I okay!?_ "

Bart flinched at the harsh tone, and the dried tears on Jaime's face began to make him feel self conscious. But, he continued to hold back anymore tears that threatened to spill over. Of all the people seeing him cry, he wouldn't want it to be Bart.

The freckled boy grinned over at him, pitifully attempting to lighten the mood. "Was that _crash_ or _what-?_ "

" _Bart_." Jaime whispered out hoarsely, trying to recollect himself. " _Please_. Just, be quiet for _more_ _than_ two seconds in your life."

Bart pursed his lips together in annoyance. " _But-_!"

Jaime stared helplessly up at him. " _Please_."

Bart was strangely silent after that, and the only noise that could be heard in the bathroom was the constant dripping of a leaking faucet and Jaime's strangled breaths as he tried to compose himself. Bart let go of Jaime's head, allowing Jaime's gaze to fall to the disgusting floor beneath him. He forced himself to look at Bart. At his face. At his freckles. At his eyes.

" _Hey_." Bart whispered, lifting up a hand to touch Jaime's face. Jaime instantly slapped it away, and Bart stared shocked at him, a hurt look taking over his features. "What's the _matter_ with you?"

Jaime tried to breathe, staring up at Bart with strained eyes as he began to try to form a coherent sentence, but could find the words to. They were swirling in his brain again. Like earlier on. His entire head hurt, and his heart felt heavy.

This time, it most definitely _was not_ the drugs.

"Why are you _crying-_?"

"H-how _long_ have you been doing... _that_?" he interrupted Bart. The last part he spat out angrily, and Bart's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Jaime started forcefully into his eyes, not backing down. This wasn't Dick...This was Bart.

' _There's no reason to be afraid._ ' he reminded himself, wiping a stray tear from his cheek pitifully. Jaime hated crying. He _despised_ it. He didn't understand why he was getting so emotional about this in the first place, but he was. Maybe it was the drugs. Or the alcohol. Or the hunger.

Or, maybe Jaime had finally lost it.

"Jaime, if _that's_ why you're so upset, then don't be! It's so stupid! And, much more fun than your job, if I _may_ say so myself-"

Jaime cut him off again, unable to handle the fact that Bart was still treating this like it was some sick _game_. Still on about the _fucking be_ t. He couldn't even believe they were referring to it as " _this_ " or " _that_ ". Like they weren't even _willing_ to truly face it. Because, they both knew what it meant. Even if Bart tried to hide it or act like he didn't understand, he knew. And Jaime knew he knew _and oh God, this was so fucking confusing._

" _Bart_." he spoke up in a firm voice, and Bart's eyes which had been staring anywhere but at Jaime snapped back to him. There was a small smile on his face. Jaime hated it. He hated that he hated it. He wanted it all to go away. He wished he had never came. He wanted to be back at the train station with Gar and La'gaan and stupid people having sex with you on a train in your sleep.

Not _here_. Not with _this_.

He continued on, though. Because, he needed to know. He had to know if these men had _taken_ him and ever _done_ anything to him. Had to know if he did _more_ than just dance. Had to know if…

If, if, if.

"I need to know-" he breathed, eyes shining with unshed tears, "-if you've ever done anything _more_."

Bart stared at him as though he were looking at an alien. He blinked in complete confusion, not understanding the true meaning behind Jaime's words. " _More_? What do you mean _more-_?"

He stopped himself abruptly, eyes widening. The smile fell from his face almost instantly as he suddenly understood what Jaime was talking about. Jaime watched him as he turned a ghastly pale, his mouth slightly ajar as he shook his head frantically from side to side.

" _No_! Oh my-! It's not _like_ _that_ , Jaime! I _swear_. You've got it _all_ wrong! _You-_ "

The rest of what he said was lost on him, though, because of the look in Bart's eyes. There was embarrassment there. And fear. And disgust. Hell, maybe even a bit of truth. But, something else was there as well. Something flickered in his eyes like it had in Dick's. Except, Dick's had gone by so fast, Jaime had missed it. He didn't miss this.

_Guilt_. There was guilt thrown into the mix.

He was lying.

" _Liar_." Jaime hissed out, eyes wide and frantic. He scrambled away from Bart, a look of disgust and sadness and confusion taking over his features. Bart stood up and reached out for him, but Jaime backed away.

"Jaime." Bart mumbled, a sad look suddenly washing over him. This time, Jaime shook his own head frantically, and continued to back away from Bart before hitting a wall.

' _Don't panic. There's nothing to get worked up over.'_

"No, _no…_ " he whispered, and pressed himself against the wall. He was sticky with sweat and covered in his own spit up. Bart reached out once more. Reached out, to touch but not to love.

' _He's a fucking prostitute!'_

" _Jaime_." he whispered again. Jaime shook his head, tears welling up once more and he let out a shaky sob and allowed his tears to fall once more. Bart was so close. So very close.

Yet, so far.

" _You dirty whore!_ " he screamed out, and Bart reeled back in shock. As though he had been hit. As though he suddenly realized just what he was. Just how vile and disgusting and delicate and beautiful and... _and…_

' _God,_ please _don't do this to me.'_

Bart stared emotionlessly at Jaime. More tears fell from Jaime's brown eyes. Stupid, dumb tears.

' _Big boys don't cry, Reyes. Remember?'_

Jaime was angry and sad and he felt stupid and heartbroken. He hated Bart with all his might, yet loved him far too much to do anything.

He was terribly, horribly lost. He felt like throwing up again, but had nothing more to regurgitate. He felt like crying, but already was.

He didn't know _what_ to do.

So, he ran. Ran so fast, that it would make Wally proud. Ran out of that fucking bathroom, out of that fucking bar, and away from those _fucking_ eyes. He cried and cried and cried, because he was just some stupid kid trying to make his own in a world that seemed to enjoy putting him down at every chance it got.

He felt like screaming and kicking and punching, but he couldn't. He felt like hugs and kisses and soft, kind words, but nobody would give them to him. He wanted to be alone, but there were so many _fucking_ people.

And he thought of Bart. Most thoughts of him being angry, some of them being sad. He didn't know what to feel, so he felt everything and anything.

He thought of _Bart_ and his _eyes_ and his _smile_.

_And_ _those_ _eyes_.

And he thought that if he never saw Bart Allen again, then he might just be the luckiest person on the planet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment whether you like it or not, and if there's anything you'd like to see improved or changed! :)


	8. A Week Without You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (So sorry for being gone so long. I'll be answering comments soon! Enjoy!)

_Just know that I love you, even when I hate you_

"Do you feel any older after all your years on the streets?"

"I am older."

"No. I mean, not physically. But, did you feel as though you had to grow up? Had to change or morph yourself to face the terrors that you went through?"

"Yes."

"Were you ever angry with yourself? With the world? For making you have to endure all the hardships that you did?"

"Of course. But, I learnt that anger would get me nowhere after a while."

"And why is that?"

"Holding onto anger is like drinking poison, you see. Like drinking poison...and expecting the other person to die…"

* * *

The first day, he felt angry.

An odd thing to be, but Jaime only thought raging, red thoughts. Thoughts that threatened to bubble over the surface. Thoughts that squeezed their tendrils into his mind and force-fed him irritable nothings.

Angry things that hurt his brain itself.

Jaime had never really liked being angry (but then again, who did?). He had always been a passive person in general. The young boy tended to handle situations with a sort of calmness that others could only envy. It was, in fact, something Jaime had always prided himself on. Sure, he could get irritated and sometimes felt like punching _certain_ annoying people (read: _La'gaan_ ) in the face, but Jaime usually managed to refrain from doing so.

Part of that reason being he didn't enjoy the attention that came with acting out. The other being he just didn't like fighting and angry thoughts in general.

Blue, on the other hand, adored it. He talked about wanting to kill different people (usually Dick) every day.

"They're all a bunch of meatbags." he'd scowl, and Jaime would laugh at the odd choice of words. Blue would frown over at him, disappointed. "They are, though. The whole lot of them. Useless sacks of flesh attempting to make a difference in this world. I'd kill all of them if I didn't want to be bothered."

"So you _do_ want to be bothered?" Jaime would ask. Blue would grin.

"Well, I tend to get pretty bored getting high all by myself, little man."

The thing being, Blue's argument for most everything was " _Why Should I Do Anything If I Can Just Stay Here And Get High As Fuck?_ ". This tended to cause a problem as _certain annoying people_ ( _read: La'gaan_ ) would call him out on it and dub him "Lazy Ass", something that Blue did not take very kindly to.

La'gaan was a son of a bitch. But, they dealt with him.

Well, Dick did anyways.

Jaime's didn't know what his philosophy on life was. It wasn't getting high like Blue or being a pain like La'gaan. All he had were his odd talents as a hustler of sorts and an inability to fight people for fear of "hurting" them.

Who needed a philosophy for life when you didn't have a life to begin with?

Jaime didn't particularly like being angry. But, there was this growing blackness in the pit of his chest that first day. "Got The Monday Blues". How laughable. On that Monday, Jaime felt like kicking somebody's face in. He felt like yelling and screaming and beating Gar to a bloody pulp when he wouldn't stop pulling on his hair.

' _Stupid annoyance._ ' he thought, and shoved Gar away for what had to be the fiftieth time before resuming his brooding in his place on the floor at the train station, ' _Just like Bart._ '

And then he became even more angered as he got the feeling his heart had sunk to the pits of hell and had received the devil's blessings all in one moment.

Because he fucking hated Bart. Wanted to kill him most of all.

His stupid, green eyes and dumb, soft freckles. Pale skin in the snow and moonlight as well as a grin like that of the chesire cat (Artemis loved the tale of "Alice In Wonderland". Jaime got the feeling Blue would too, as the entire thing was one huge acid trip in itself).

Whenever he thought of Bart, it was as though something came out from the blackness and strangled him. All these dark thoughts pushing up and threatening to spill from his mind.

All of that first day, Jaime found himself in this uncontrollable state where he threatened to bubble over at any point. He snapped at Cassie when she offered him a bag of glue or paint or _whatever_. He had shoved Tim to the ground multiple times. It was only when he had lashed out at Gar (his best friend) that somebody finally decided to ask the dreaded question.

"Are you okay?"

And, Jaime hated that question. Hated it with all his bones. It was such a stupid, silly, little thing. Because, who was honestly going to say "No, I'm not fine. My best friend stabbed me in the fucking back and it fucking hurt, so if you could kindly piss off, I'm going to go back to brooding in my fucking corner."

It was idiotic, really. The thought of it was unfathomable. Everyone was always going to answer the same thing, which was exactly what Jaime had answered; "I'm fine." or "Don't worry about me" or "I'm good."

But Jaime _wasn't_ good. He was anything _but_ good.

Still, Bart was always there in the back- _no_ , forefront of his mind. With that sickly grin and a soft, sneaky laugh to go with it.

And those damned eyes. Watching. Waiting. _Preying_.

Had Bart stabbed him in the back? Or, was Jaime just taking this too far? Was he supposed to be feeling this way? Was he supposed to say sorry? Was he supposed to cry? He hated crying. He hated hate.

He hated not knowing what to do or how to feel.

He hated fucking Bart.

(And not in _that_ way…)

Whatever. It didn't even matter. Because, Jaime was back at the train station now. And he didn't even have to think about…that _pathetic_ meatbag (as Blue would put it) anymore. Bart didn't matter. He was just a passed chapter in Jaime's life.

The boy meant nothing to him. He had absolutely no control over Jaime.

Not even those eyes did.

In fact, good riddance to Bart! Jaime didn't need him! He didn't need _anything_ or _anybody_. He had gotten along fine on his own in the past, and would continue on like so for many years to come!

Such was the way of the streets.

Bart could go fuck himself for all he cared. Or allow all those other people to fuck him, since they _clearly_ wanted to. Jaime didn't even care. He was going to lay at his spot in the train station and enjoy the rest of his life _without_ thinking about Bart even _once_.

Or those lights.

Or those eyes.

On the first day, Jaime was angry. And, he didn't even really know _why_ or _how…_

* * *

" _Are you okay-?"_

" _Don't_ ask me that question."

"I'm merely concerned about you. You don't look so good. I understand this isn't the easiest topic to talk about, Jaime."

"She _understands_...it's a _fucking_ miracle!"

"You believe me to be ignorant and rude when you are as well. Maybe treat others the way you want to be treated and it will benefit you in the end?"

"Because I'm not entitled. And neither are you."

"No. Perhaps we should be kinder to one another? It may help us both get through it all in the end."

"...Yeah. Yeah, okay."

* * *

On the second day, he felt alone.

That may have seemed a little odd, but it was the truth nonetheless. Jaime woke up with a feeling in his gut that he couldn't quite understand. La'gaan and Garfield were fighting at the other end of the room, eyes narrowed and mouths filled with words that spewed fire.

Jaime stared at them for a while.

He eventually got up. You couldn't sit around too long in this world or you'd miss out on something important. So he got up and paced around the train station for a while. His stomach hummed angrily and his brain screamed at him to do something. Jaime was just trying to figure out what that feeling was.

He couldn't.

He spent the day doing regular things; picking up boxes and transporting them places for Greg, hanging outside with Garfield, watching over the train station.

He went walking around the inside of train station again when the sun went down and the stars painted the dark sky. He sat on a bench and pulled his knees up to his chest. Busy, busy people. They all had somewhere to go. The train doors opened and closed and people stepped in and out. Jaime realized they all had a purpose. The lady with the red, ruby scarf was probably going in for a late night at the office. The man struggling to hold on to all of his boxes was probably bringing them home for his kid's birthday or something along those lines.

Two brothers ran past the bench, frightening him. Jaime jumped and their mother called after them. The two turned back and gave her twin smiles. One of the boys turned to wink at him before he shoved his brother along and took off running again.

The feeling slammed into him as though he were standing on the tracks and a train had come by and forgotten to slam on the brakes. It was clear in his mind just what he had been feeling all day.

Alone. Jaime was lonely.

There it was. The honest truth. It stared him right in the face. Jaime tried to shove it away, not willing to accept it, but the feeling practically swallowed him up and crushed him between it's teeth.

Jaime felt alone.

He squeezed his nails into the palms of his hands, eyes shutting tightly. A pool of sweat dribbled down his forehead. He felt dizzy. Maybe it was the drugs. Maybe it wasn't.

Did he... _miss_ Bart?

No. No, that was crazy. There had to be another reason as to why he was feeling the way he was. Another reason that wasn't a freckled boy with eyes that seemed to stare straight into Jaime's soul. But, the more he tried not to think about Bart, the more his heart hammered in his chest, begging to be heard. The more sweat trickled down his cheeks.

The more that feeling gnawed at the shards of his bones.

Jaime spat at the floor below him, suddenly feeling sick all over again. The events of that night played over and over again in his mind. Bart's smile. Dirty bathroom. A laugh. Sobbing.

The eyes.

Jaime got up and walked away. He didn't know what else to do, so he did nothing.

And it was scary.

On the second day, Jaime was lonely. And Bart's laugh haunted him around every corner he turned.

* * *

"How did you end up on the streets?"

"I ran away."

"From home?"

"Sure. Though, it wasn't much of a home."

"No?"

"No."

"Did you regret it?"

"Ha. _Yeah_ , _no…_ "

* * *

On the third day, Jaime felt nothing.

Usually he _was_ nothing, but he had never _felt_ like nothing. His face refused to move from it's blank expression. His eyes were dead shells of emptiness.

It was really odd...not feeling anything at all.

Jaime had grown used to feeling happy, or sad, or angry at others. Sure, he internalized those feelings, but he still _felt_ them. He wasn't like loads of other people who would whine and complain about what they felt or who would even signal out others for what _they_ were feeling.

Feeling was a human thing. It was what connected Jaime to the world.

Usually.

When he was walking around, trailing after Roy With The Buzzcut that afternoon, he didn't feel very connected to the world. In fact, he didn't feel much of anything at all.

It was as though his feelings had jumped out from his skin and had decided to take a walk down the train tracks. It was real hard to beg when he couldn't even fake a sad look. All Jaime could do was stare ahead emotionlessly. Roy With The Buzzcut mentioned that he looked like some kind of a robot.

Jaime usually would have felt like grabbing him by his amputated arm and throwing him to the ground below, but he felt absolutely nothing.

The third day was kind of a blur. Jaime remembered doing things, but they didn't really mean anything.

The third day, Jaime felt nothing.

Nothing at all.

* * *

"Why not?"

"I don't know."

"So, you did have a family?"

"Sure."

"What were they like?"

"I'm here to tell you about life on the streets."

"I know. But, I'd like to maybe learn a little about you while we do so?"

"Not in that way. You might want to get off that topic while you can. It isn't the nicest of stories…"

* * *

On the fourth day, Jaime was sad.

Okay, so, sad may have been an understatement. He had breathed heavily in a corner as tears welled up in his eyes for about an hour, trying to calm himself down. Cassie walked over and pat his shoulder at one point. A whining noise had fallen from Jaime's throat.

He walked around in a depressed state, eyes downcast and mouth drawn in a firm line. Everyone stared at him sadly. Jaime, the depressed one. That was what he ultimately was. Every step he took, his heart would twist in a way it never had before. His eyes would water and he would have to force himself to swallow down the frog in his throat down to his chest.

He spent most of the day just staring into space. Every few minutes he was sure he saw Bart out of the corner of his eye. Taking a nap proved to be the worst idea ever, as a nightmare preceded him.

He could see Bart. He was smiling. Jaime smiled back and waved. But there were eyes staring out from the darkness. Haunting eyes that Jaime was sure he'd never be able to unsee. Shadows swirled up Bart's legs, taking over his smiling face. Jaime tried to scream, but no noise came out. The shadows were wrapping themselves around him as well. And then there were people staring at them in disgust. They whispered menacingly as they walked on by. Jaime begged them for help but they ignored him like they always did.

A train sounded in the distance. Jaime turned to it, and it slammed into him.

He woke up practically screaming.

It took a while to calm himself down once again. To not scream or cry. His heart wanted to leap out of his chest and run off to hide in one of Greg's bigger boxes back with his courage. Jaime forced it all down.

' _Be strong. Be brave,'_

He'd had that dream since he'd been a child. It always changed but ended with the sounding of a train. Jaime would turn to get a glimpse of it, but it would slam into him before he could ever get a good look.

It was so real, he'd wake up thinking that he'd actually been hit by a train. He'd scream and cry when he was real little. Now he just woke up in a cold sweat, having to keep himself from screaming out for somebody who would never come.

It was kind of funny, considering the fact that he lived in a train station and had nightmares about trains of all things.

Or maybe it wasn't funny at all.

It was weird. Jaime was usually the star of his own nightmares. It was rare that another person would even show up in the deep, dark crevices that were his mind.

But Bart had.

It actually made Jaime uncomfortable. Bart wasn't just invading his life, but his mind as well.

How the hell was he supposed to get rid of him?

Did he even _want_ to?

On the fourth day, Jaime was sad. And it could once again be credited to Bart.

* * *

"I highly doubt you have any nice stories in your life."

"Well, that's just not the truth."

"You're a street kid."

"So that means I have less fun than you?"

"..."

* * *

On the fifth day, Jaime felt guilty.

Guilty as _fuck_.

The words " _Liar._ " and " _Don't touch me!_ " and " _You dirty whore!_ " purged his mind and wouldn't leave him alone. He had to cover his ears and scream at himself to shut up at one point. His brain enjoyed teasing him, though, and all Jaime saw when he shut his eyes was Bart's sad face and cold, green eyes.

There was nothing he could do to really stop it, of course. This was his fault. He deserved to see Bart's sad eyes and hear him whispering his name over and over again.

' _Jaime. Jaime. Jaime.'_

Where was Bart? Was he okay? Was he sitting in a ditch crying out for somebody to help him? Was he lost just like Jaime was? Was he wondering where Jaime was? Was he _okay_?

Jaime felt like a worried mother.

He wanted to be angry at Bart. He wanted to go back to that first day. Or the third one. Feeling nothing right about this time sounded pretty good. All Jaime felt was this burning guilt that littered his insides and screamed in his ears.

He felt like throwing his brain against a wall until it decided to shut up. The thought of blood and brain cells splattered all around the wall didn't sound that bad.

Jaime was pretty sure he was going mad.

On the fifth day, Jaime felt guilty. Guilty, guilty, guilty.

* * *

"Listen, lady, here's something you've got to know if we're going to continue on like this; we're both human beings. Just because I'm in some hoodie and you're in a nice skirt, doesn't mean-"

"I didn't say that it meant anything."

"-that you and I are any different. It doesn't mean that my kind and I are a complete different species. We're all human beings."

"You expect me to treat you like some sort of God?"

"I expect you to treat me the same. Like everybody else. Not like a caged animal, but a human being."

* * *

On the sixth day, Jaime was scared.

Fear was seriously prevalent. He was like a time bomb, ticking away the minutes before everything would explode in his face.

He was scared that Bart wouldn't forgive him.

Jaime was trying to work up the courage to go and see Bart again. He knew how to get to the little hidey-hole. He'd been there far too many times for his own good. But, in all honesty, Jaime was terrified of even leaving the train station.

What if he got there and Bart never wanted to see him again?

What if he got there and Bart refused to forgive him?

What if he got there and all Bart did was give him a cold stare?

What if, what if, what if…?

The worst "what if" of them all was what if he got there and Bart was gone? What if he could never see him again and they had finished off their time together like that? What if he wasn't _there_?

Jaime knew he couldn't live his life based off of "what if's". It was a terrible way to live. You could never get anything done if you were always questioning yourself. It would be like saying sorry for every time you stepped on somebody else's toes.

Pointless.

Still, he couldn't help that twinge of fear that sprouted up in his chest every time he thought about going back to see Bart. He couldn't help being scared sometimes because you were allowed to be scared. Even if you didn't show it, you were still allowed.

He woke up scared. He walked around scared. He fell asleep scared.

Jaime was fear personified.

On the sixth day, he was scared. Terrified of an unknown that rapped at his brain's door and wouldn't leave him alone for a moment of silence.

* * *

"You want to be normal?"

"Who doesn't?"

"Jaime, most people strive to make a difference in the world they live in. They long to be recognized."

"I strive to live in the world, period. Being recognized sucks. People won't stop looking at you."

"You speak from personal experience?"

"Sure. I hate when people look at me like I'm different."

"Hate to break it to you, Jaime, but you kind of are."

* * *

On the seventh day, Jaime accepted it.

He was pretty sure that was apart of one of those "Five Stages Of Grief" feelings or something. Not that Jaime was grieving or anything. Wait, scratch that. He was most definitely grieving.

But he wasn't doing it by the book.

He refused to do anything by the book.

On the seventh day, Jaime finally came to terms with the fact that he wasn't dreaming. There was going to be no waking up from this one day and going back to the way things used to be before everything went down.

This was real life. It was real and scary and Jaime was going to have to deal with it. Accepting something that you really didn't want to be true was exceptionally difficult. Jaime had gone through it before, so he knew just how hard it could really be.

But this wasn't going to be going away anytime soon.

He had to get with it and move in.

On the seventh day, Jaime was accepting. Because he knew that if he wasn't then he would be left behind in the wake of his own denial.

* * *

"That's the thing; I don't _want_ to be different. I just want to be me. Does that make any sense at all?"

"...Yeah, actually. I think it does."

* * *

It didn't matter how he got there, but only that he was.

And the snow was tumbling down in what seemed like barrels of white powder. It was way too cold to be out after dark in the dead of night. But there he was nonetheless, walking past the shadows dancing on the walls. Pushing through the snow and his fears simultaneously.

He could practically feel the warmth radiating off the pipes. He could feel it pushing at the edges of his heart, melting the snow and cold exterior around him.

Cold, cold, cold.

Jaime so wanted to be warm.

And, there, standing in the darkness, illuminated by the sounds of laughter and freedom was a boy with too many freckles to count and green eyes that shone like knives cutting through his skin.

Bart turned to him and Jaime really, truly froze.

Moment of truth. Moment of truth.

Don't fuck up. _Don't fuck up_.

Bart smiled. And, just like that, Jaime melted.

"Something told me to come out here," he spoke honestly, "I'm glad I did."

Jaime swallowed his fear. The night hid away his blush in a mask of darkness and he blinked and stared up at Bart. A million crystal snowflakes fell in a matter of moments. The stars shone brighter than ever before.

"I'm glad you did too." Jaime whispered back, not knowing what else to say. Did he even deserve to be said anything to? Did Bart deserve his forgiveness? Did he deserve Bart's?

Why did he keep coming back to this place? This place, and the place in his mind where he had to balance on a fine line of "Friends" and "Is This Normal?" Jaime was starting to realize that whatever he and Bart had between them was definitely not normal.

Not in any sense of the word.

Jaime opened his mouth to say something. To apologize about a million times for what he had said. To berate Bart for what had happened. To zoom in with a magnifying glass on their past mistakes and point out all the good and all the bad.

Something flashed in Bart's eyes, though. Almost as though he read Jaime's mind. He spoke before Jaime could form a coherent sentence. Before he could take out the magnifying glass and begin studying all the wrong and right in their lives.

"It's cold out here." he said, grinning, "Come inside. I think one of the guys made hot chocolate. Can you believe that? _Actual_ hot chocolate!"

Jaime scoffed, also smiling, "No way!"

Bart nodded his head. "Uh huh! Totally way! Come on! It'll be crash!"

All Jaime could remember after that was a soft, warm hand grabbing his own and walking back into Bart's life with open arms. Acceptance. The best day.

There was no point in focusing in on their past mistakes, was there? What happened had happened. To truly accept it, Jaime didn't need to say a word. There would be time to talk about it later, when their hot chocolate was finished and he didn't feel like his feet were going to freeze off of themselves

He had missed Bart. That second day seemed like forever ago, but Jaime had tried to deny ever missing Bart in the first place. He had tried to deny the existence of such a powerful force in his life.

He couldn't believe he had ever thought he could erase Bart from his life. Just like that. _Forever_.

In that moment, with the snowflakes melting from his body with the fear and worry, Jaime couldn't bring himself to care about anything else.

In that moment, the stars were shining brighter than the man made streetlights. The real outweighed the fake. That had to be worth something, right?

In that moment, he was holding Bart's hand for the first time in weeks, and he had missed this so much. He whispered over and over and over again under his breath, " _I missed you. I missed you. I missed you._ "

In that moment, Jaime felt better for the first time in a week.

And he loved that he felt that way.


End file.
